Geethanjali gives us a glimpse of ‘not such a perfect world’, a slice of urban life in this poem.
A give and take, an adjustment to make,
When in the din and clamour of the city,
We masquerade with players each step we take,
And along the way bump into serendipity.
The shore and the bay endlessly echo,
As they crash with renewed gusto roaring,
And an abandoned father now a lonely gecko,
Creeps and lurks to beg, on the ground writhing.
Suave cars, plush restos, billboards of heroes,
Rats scampering in swamps, to unknown destinations,
They all write their epics caught in eternal throes,
Smiling their perfect smiles tickling virtual visions.
In this not such a perfect world of lost denizens,
Let me and you make a difference, with mere thoughts,
As we watch the sun watch the east end horizon,
Beckoning it to dance in a dawn of the golden sorts.
For perfect and imperfect is what we perceive,
You and I have love to truthfully share beyond paradigms,
Enough to give wholeheartedly but ready to receive,
Shall we meet in that perfect place where lines with metre rhymes?
Only the imperfect can fit with the perfect,
For paradoxes are the name of the game,
Playing hopscotch on the board where lines intersect,
Where everything changes, unchanged, in a different frame.
Pic from Net.