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The
Sun knew
No Monday
Blues. It bore down
On me as I took
A walk in the city.
Minarets of yore brought down,
So modernity could climb the
Rank. Aesthetics of the past long since
Forgotten to usher a conscience blank.
To what end do we partake in this race?
What does the present hope to see in
The future? Surely, there’s more that
Demarcates the two. Not just
Blinks and beats or chance greets.
Do I stand in the
Present or echo
The past? As
Doth the
Sun.

I enjoy writing Etheree poems. This is another one occasioned by a recent realization – time is permanent participant of a race. If you’re watchful and efficient, sometimes you can walk along side it. But most often than not, you realize that it is a good lap ahead of you. And there you are, caught up between your smug memories of the time behind you versus the time that’s left you behind. I guess, that’s the beauty of it.

– Meera

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