OFF THE ROCKS
One look, you judge him
sane,
but he was all the time
egged on to the edge
of a precipice.
Stone walls had built a
labyrinth
he walked through to find
too late
his game far overshot
by its price.
Circles with closed
spaces, some
straight lines with strained
faces
of their lost causes, a
few
smug squares nestling
in key places,
ladders leading too
to equilateral triangle, a
cute
form built with acute facts,
surprise slips into snake pits
which dismember bit by bit,
discotheques to distinguish
him with every sullen wish.
His signals were crossed
and the colours
tossed
an ambient amber in his
dish.
Free traffic was now
so tragic, though
he knew not how.
In the world of worries
too,
the big one eats the small,
a free-for-all fight,
each flying his individual
kite.
Suddenly there was sure
pandemonium in the hall
where the bells rang all at
once
a call for permanent
cure.
As colours
mix to make white,
the blend of thoughts is a
bland
feeling for something to hold
tight,
and madness merely a
godsend.
–RABINDRANATH MENON