Old age

An offering of the elastic conscience
Stretched but rarely breaking
Seemingly obese around her waist

And that offering is a portmanteau
Of a nuance of the youngest feeling invented by man
Yet the oldest when you keep heart
And subtract groin, in blissful nuptials
With selfless unconditionality

And like bamboo grass in a grove
Bushing out new shoots
Heart-works are divided and multiplied
In the absence of motive and gain

In the darkest of nights – when parasites are feeding on light
You see moonbeams bouncing off tall yellow islands
The beautiful glow of bamboo wood
Slanting across, curving over a river-bank

Slender culms reaching out
Like pashmina shawls over troubled shoulders


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