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.

 

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