sights that provoke and tease...

He was standing by the window
And watched how the street below
Had all of sunset yellow
Spread over it like a mark
Bringing him to the reality stark...
From his window he could see
The gray, blackish cemetery
How it brought her yet not fade
Her existence on his ring with stony jade!

He thought a few minutes ago
He had finally overcome
All the dreams carrying starry indigo
All his fatal mistakes upturned!
He thought finally perhaps
He had concocted a memory lapse
Of finally immersing all her photos...
Into the black water made them toss...
But now through the sunset yellow
As he caught the sight below
He saw for a single glimpse
Brightness how again to him beamed...
The dark indigo made a return
To fill again his Joycean Urn...

Had he been a Jibanananda
The poet with urban folk
He would surely on the board chalk
Out a sketch lost in everyday talk...
 He would then think of
Sights to him every moment dropped
Of her like a painting as emerged
On his apartment's sky only a few squarefeet large!
He would then contemplate
Sights born every moment like slices of fate...
Sights that come with so much ease
Sights that provoke and eternally tease....






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