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Composition No. 10: Piet Mondrian, 1939-1942
The moon coming through the curtains
makes geometrical patterns in bars
a calligraphic grid through which pass
the ever vigilant ones
the souls of “my” dead though of
course they’re no one’s
not even their own any more merely
messengers of the mirror negative
dispatched from a mute past
to efface a haunted present
makes geometrical patterns in bars
a calligraphic grid through which pass
the ever vigilant ones
the souls of “my” dead though of
course they’re no one’s
not even their own any more merely
messengers of the mirror negative
dispatched from a mute past
to efface a haunted present
2 comments:
Yes. You seem to catch these fleeting images, I see everyday, yet somehow, something restrains me/ am unable; to put them into words.
Very nice poem, here. I like it.
Aditya.
Aditya,
Many thanks. You are too modest as always. With your own distinctive shades and nuances. (I have just visited your cautionary tale Statutory Warning.)
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