Like the old Oak Tree – Devika Mathur, Lucknow

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2092

Beneath the crackers of immortality
I seek a path for a transparent moment,
defining hidden walls of pale truth.
I drink the nectar, sweet nectar from the eyes
of unfortunate moments, and so I am Valiant,
The rocks of unstimulating wisdom,
grow like wild weeds into my skin,
browning my colour tone, freezing my collar-bone
And I become an insipid, lifeless moth.
A moth in your little mouth of lies, conspire.
Ambrosia, ferns. A moment of truth.
All wrapped inside my teeth, on my palms
widening my iris, making me wise,
like my sturdy, guarded old Oak tree.

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