When memory comes to the crackling point, burns and diesā what remains?
I was a scholar in those days and I learnt all the wrong things. Though, who's to say? The value of knowledge should never be misjudged.
It was evening when the truth came to light. And the moon, so bright yesterday disappeared like the lover who once made me devotional.
He and his God abandoned, With mine distantā
the state of faith, dire.
Grief, profound and spent, embroidered into each blue hour. Nearly three decades in this world, unraveling into a ribbon of ice as violence climbs up the spire and rings the bell.
I felt then as I feel nowāthe tollā I am not meant for any of this.













