You, in a Poet’s Conspiracy

Sometimes time don’t obey your colossal hands
That pull the air and keep the mandatory earth at bay
Making deviation a condition in fondness.
Though you stay, accumulating a bright sun
You feel empty, bewildered by a roadside creation
Or pick up an earthbound sin to weigh your endurance.
 
You understand the decimal of life thru
Your biographical scribbles engaged in a conspiracy
To unnerve the rolling stone at season’s dilemma.
You æd bend, tie or roll that glossary, unconsciously,
Trying to put properties of popular drama.
But disprove the esplanade that once gave
You shelter in an anxious prayer.
 
You, still standin’ on a melted ground
The drowsy mind admits that nervous whisper at
Every flutter of wind. And hazy droplets of moon
Would glow again in a candid dictation of eyes;
The corpuscles æll be queueing for a silent revival.