The Meditations of Icarus: I
by Dr Nitoo Das
Do not smile
and ask me why
my father sprouted
wings. It does not matter
now.
I thought I knew
what it meant
to console the down
on his feathered arms.
My limp lisp
followed his light
but his words
have bleached the sea
and sprinkled shadows
that squirm and fly by me.
