Poems on


a poem by Sudarshan Madhav Karhale

Winds are blowing hot and dry,
everyday I’m growing old;
forgetting your memories I try –
failed, I’m left dead and cold.

Cheek muscles have loosen
being devoid of all smiles;
logs have been led down to earth
of feelings with saws and files.

There are a lot blisters
on the inside of my heart;
I’m dying with grief,
tearing part by part.

Many shadows of the past
circle around my vision-
whether good or bad ones,
I cannot take my decision.

I’m afraid even in light,
either natural or artificial;
some ghost probably has haunted me
of origin inferior or superficial.