the earth contused once, i was born;
a sublime sky spread out in aesthetic colours-
i was a pioneer, touching the right chords,
breaking out in fearless pursuit of reasons.
when i died after my whimsical voyage,
the sky remained frozen, pale with frangipani ribbons-
beyond the sensuous now, in my memory
the wounded earth still breaks out in seasons.
© Shreekumar Varma