A Master & His Doves

A master of numbers I may be
juggling  between 1, 2 & 3
Segregation a tired course it be
for a soul entangled with A,b and Cs..


What am I..
A jigsaw with troubles
jilted by lovers
tired of goal befrienders..


Who am I
An einstein in the making
or even
Robert Frost's awaking
from his grave...


There I stand
A step before you
Would it matter then
the step was mistaken
and loose in its station....


Where do the doves fly
cowering in twos and fives
whispering in secrecy
of the world below
and their idiocracy..
Where do the doves fly?


Where do the grand masters pass by
when the station is stormed
by the passing train
whistling the arrival
of a destination in vain..
In abhorment of time passing by
slowly in tired hands a clock
stands
taking time..
Where do the grand masters pass by?

-shobana-




Comments

  1. Would you believe it Shobana there were doves nesting in a cherry tree just out side the stair window. I tried but could not get a photo through the glass. Good poem.

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