"Beauty is truth,
truth beauty,
that is all Ye know on Earth,
that is all Ye need to know..." - John Keats

Sunday, 18 September 2011

House of Cards

Here I sit, spaces between,
The moments of past and future unseen,
Here I linger, hitherto unknown,
Poised and in languor, telling the story untold…

The moments of toil must’ve been in past,
But the remnants of memories are things that last.
There might come a gale that destroys,
But the picture of what stood remains with joy…

There has been the moment where a little swoosh of air,
Or a lighted match, or water, I mean, everything that is fair,
Have rumbled the House of Cards built with toil,
Have taken that away, which has eaten my midnight’s oil…

But then again, my memories don’t cease,
A thing of past Card House might be,
But its image still lingers, and cherish I with ease,
a thing that could be and never is…

What is life, but a House of Cards,
Built through ages, through toil and labour hard,
Stands for an instant, crumbles in a sweep,
But the memories of what had been, never cease to sleep…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

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