And
this is what true imprisonment is like –
Not
stone walls and iron bars
For stone
crumbles
Iron
rusts away,
And
behind them imagination soars free
No.
True imprisonment is that of memory.
A
walk along an evening beach
As
the sun sinks to an orange rest –
Hand
in hand in the crowded marketplace
With
the stalls filled with brassware, strange rocks and incense too
And
nights lying limb-tangled with you –
The
shackles that never set you free
Are
the light-forged bonds of memory.
Copyright B Purkayastha 2016
How true and how eloquently expressed.
ReplyDeleteMemories are like starlight, they go on forever.
ReplyDeleteVery nicely said.
ReplyDelete