When the evening follows on the heels of the day,

in the false light when

the light cheats and the darkness reveals

the obscure corners, those hidden lessons

from the past narratives

that never cease to hurt,

she huddles her fears ,

and half awake and half in sleep

slams the door shut on the evening shadows.

 Constant change has a body, shape and a figure,

an instant's imprint

that holds on in the stream

to the rock of memory

like an indelible print.

I have no quarrel with time;

I have no quarrel with change;

it's all in the nature of things.

But so it is with the memory I own, my very own thing in the midst

of all that changes constantly.

Memory modulates, moves, resonates to the spirit of change.

Memory too is a flow;

changing, holding, pausing midstream,

flashing before the mind's eye

the glimpses of time;

and time stands bewildered

in the vice-like grip of memory.

Sushama Karnik.

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 Valleys brood and mountains watch

when a woman in the sun reclines,

she and her shadow redefine

the solitude of the sultry noon.

The nocturnal veil over centuries of dark

may lift as the woman broods

the clouds will drift in the melting gloom

and far in the distance, the sea will echo

the sounds of dreams in a valley.

Tomorrow may be a different day,

Let's hope the dawn we were waiting for,

the time which we tirelessly worked for,

when each day we died several times

in the hope of living a perfect day.

Sushama Karnik

Nov 4, 2016