When Eliot leads, You must follow

Zaynul Abedin

When I first came,
Everything was quiet and calm.
Unknown to many
Withdrawn from even more,
I trudged my terribly scrawny physique,
Suddenly made bloated with pretensions.

The time quickened its pace,
In a whirlwind
In an interminable indifference
To ambient color.
A yellow patina of lichen
Is varnished on it.
On the mind, the physique and the quietude.
So much for those sickening pretensions.

Now it being hopelessly becalmed,
No more dream seems possible.
Neither do your eyes, ears and voices.
Just like a dead land!

A slow receding taking place,
From the vanguard to backbenchers,
The island gets melted into the undulating ocean.

This is how all the years
Have gone into oblivion.
This is how it all ends.
“Not with a bang, but a whimper”.

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