Monday, August 26, 2013

Made up of fog


At a time when there were no roads
no trees, no mountains, no You and I
whoever and whatever there were
were made of fog with our ancestors 
sauntering in the haze between death
and birth 

You remind me of fossils

the ruins of civilizations the Colosseum
surely they were not vapour you argue
No we are talking about alteration of forms
each of us though fed with same ideas
are made different akin to genetic alteration

You are a riddle you say

How can possibly you and your neighbor
who follows me through the tail of his eye
be made of same material Honey 
this is absurd 

Rivers meander and so do humans

fog grows as our words merge 
with cricket-chirp

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