The skin –
(We see that first)
Withered as the cliché says
Or, weathered?
By summers, winters and all the in-betweens
Each wrinkle chiselled by time
Bruises, none seen. All healed and invisible
on the outside
About the healing inside one doesn’t know.
Eyes –
Seeing past boundaries
And layers of ages
Not just past ones
But of the future, too?
The demeanour
Calm, placid
No rush
No throbbing
No busyness.
Not anymore.
The years –
Sitting quietly, deeply
Both out and inside
In ways myriad, diverse.
Visible
And otherwise.
We sit together
Talking reminiscing sharing
And I see you.
Or, do I?
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.
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