I saw two curtains sway,
as the fan overhead beat;
one no more chaotic than the other.
In between them, I saw a single streetlight
fluttering into and out of my sight,
blocked by the kisses the curtains shared.
Not a single fibre in their whole composition
was able to stop their motion that day.
They swayed and swayed as if to their content,
a thousand kisses exchanged every second.
The light beat,
The fan beat,
The curtains beat,
But I stayed still.
There was nothing that could move me;
No force that could strain me again.
I may have condescended on their fate,
for their frivolous play seemed doomed to fail.
Because I knew -
once the fan died off and the lights came on,
their little games would draw to an end;
not by choice, not by desire,
but by the workings of this world.
- by Paul Immanuel (Thambu)
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