Ponder Mildly for the Mind is frail

Being called out

Or called for

Is only a difference in phrasing

Yet so much in phasing

Often they are mixed

When I am concerned

I woke up today, 

Was it called for, not by me

Then was it for you

I was called out for being along

After you had been done

For I had nothing to give

All taken, I was to find me stumble

Crumble and fade, yet

Nothing has moved me, 

Maybe for nothing could, Or I have

Away, or so further, or so much

That it seems mediocre, 

Such frail sense of longing, cringe

Happiness, crumbling souless husks

Maybe I too am, maybe you choose me to

Yet no, I shall defy

Refuse to let, refusing to vent, refusing to get

Lone, yet not alone 

Neither songs, nor music

Maybe why, I get called out

Or I get called for

But I and the calling never fades

I have lived,

 smelt the gentle hints of oudh

 Known the chants and hymns

   Uttered awashed in flames

From lips of the keepers of the eternal flame

In the flicker, I saw faith

For the fire is among the fours

Before the sword forced Gods upon

  And to this day seek to erase

  A faith has lived, and has lived along

     In hearts, and minds, in glowing embers

Through hands that has fed

In their eyes, I see light

For the fire is, piercing the darkness

Tying the horses

Often at night, while I lie wide awake

She rolls to me and into a cuddle

At rest I am at my thoughtless best

And she speaks of nothing else

Other than leaning in and saying "I love you"

I always run my hands on her back then

Acknowledge it, and respond "I love you too"

In the ages of reason, past

One must often run into such qualms

In quarrels, in quandary, and in queer 

And often think or reflect on their day

Or do they lean in and say "I love you"?

I always found it to be a charade

Does the other acknowledge and respond too?

As I lie now I can't remember my personal last

When I had such refutable thoughts

I hear the words of her love confessions

And all I feel is apathy, as I let them pass

Should I have been more receptive I think

She leans in whispers her usual "I love you"

And in my laugh I whisper "I no longer do"

The other side of a one sided coin

In my dimly lit corner

I scribble violently, reminiscing thoughts 

Rampant, repulsive, some dear, most chided

The mind is a coroner

The pages are my notes

In unintelligible scribblings, I pen

most even I cant read once the liquor wears 

My clothes are in shades or rags and refusals

My heart a bonfire of compulsion

The binders are of my conscience

And I ponder if I should keep having any

Amongst the rusting pitchforks

That has stabbed me, many fold

Over, and again, I hand it over to my detractors

Friends, lovers, such jolly named fellows

You could ask me, why I persevere

I could laugh, cynical , in sarcasm laden hues

We are past that age of reason

At least, I am. I am found not lost

And that too in wilfull contempt

Of found and finder

Lean over, look over my shoulder,

You wretched wretched guardian

Feeding me another breath, to suffocate me

How you gallantly perch in my head

Often my speech, or is it our conversation

I can never tell, you and I seem alike 

A mirrored, marred, maniacal, akin to opulence

Somedays you speak, other days I do

Those moments are of seething hatred

Of my own existence, I won't lament though

Then when you reach back, I lean in

Like you now do, watching my audacity 

Of stubborn living, and smirking mockery

While both find reasons to co-exist

Unwilling, yet in a quasi love

This is one such epithet

Of me seeking you, while in your denial

I shouldn't, but love in confronting rejection

Burial at sea

Beneath the plates of steel and wood

Are beings that have seen more fire

more fire, than a soul in hell

And have blackened themselves darker than tar

These are not mere mortals

These are those that have defied wind

They have conquered may swells and storms

The music of their soul it seems

Are sounds of escaping steam

And whisles of valves and the rumble of hearth

Of the fire that gobbles oil and coal

Their dance is with forks and shovels

Their grip is like a vice

That even the winter seems paler to

The merry band, as they ply

From port to port, beneath the skies

They fear no storms, they fear no fate

They go forth into the unknows

They bring everyone back home

And to the unsung heroes of yester years

One must sing songs to remember their toil

They are the children of the sea

Their caskets shall never be covered by soil

They are the ones that the sleep on the sea bed

Without a care, staring at the sky from the depths

And then there were Two

What will the dawn break bring, and

Mybe my dreams, of uncanny

Wanting a release, or to refurbished

Neither seems like a rare thought

Those sudden surges and urges

And only knowing I shall numb myself

Where, but in my mind am I truly free

Sans thoughts of belonging or bygones

And if I must question, poetic justice

It is a befitting to my life long cause

When does one begin to be

A loner, unwilling to be otherwise

Is it at the first

  the second

    or at the third loss?

Or is it when one meets another alike

When a loner meets loner is it a chance?

Or is it a tragic joke that nature spins?

Maybe loners are the same, 

If they meet or greet, 

    They laugh at their choices,

     or their mends.

And if by choice they wilfully tred

On a path of knowing the other self

Would they still be the loner they are

Or have they learnt to see themselves

Fried or Steamed Wanton, Cravings

Unrest and cacophony, of incessant utterings

Some of mind, some of lettering

In the absence of shades to hide beneath

I seek no respite, for it is futile

Unbeknownst to conscience, mine or otherwise

Spins wanton cravings, steamy or baked

Whose to know,  Not me, I won't

It feeds, the mind and the soul, and on

When the day comes calling, and if I wake

Awash in the fragrant bath soap

Smelling like a an estranged vanilla cake

A cut, and sliced 

In cut and dry, in audible framing

Of words causing an unwanted churning

Only to chum the seas of my being

Inviting the hungry, to one lost of it

Afloat, washed out, amongst the non foamy

Wavering, and lashing, bolting and dashing

I shall float, on that stormy sea

Maybe the sharks grow tired of such routine

Finding me afloat, considered a chore maybe

Then again am in the overtune of overthinking

I seek drowning, standing on sandy shores.

Into the unknown, a leap of faith

Yet knowing that such is always at odds

Contrary to logic, rhyme and reason

Spinning a web of conversation

In the hours of hearing a mirror

And often mirrors don't reflect entirety

She and I, like strangers glanced

Into the void of this fleeting time

At the end, we turned and walked away

For each, for each

And in some semblance of assurances

Thinking when we meet again

When and wherefore

What for shall a lifetime be

If it isn't spent in wanton glee

From the first puddle I splashed 

To the first mature joke I cracked

Plastered with stains of pain

And polka dotted dreams of she

Here I hear, that the world is ravaged

There is but a wail and plea

Amongst such apathy and sorrows

Lie the heartless , lying mouths

Reclining on the sands by the sea

What for shall my lifetime be

For my faith in fellowmen is wee

Yet then in each day of wake

I spend praying my heart out to thee

If so is the plight, then I wish to see

A flaming sword on swift wings thrust at me

Ending my longing and casting me to dust

Cure my will to breathe, put me to sleep

Curses and Contentment

Amongst the Damascus of words

Weaved and heaved, weighed and approximated

Go now, I shall let you be

Yet for all that carry this curse

Like I carry love and care, that shall be mine

I curse you reach the greatest of heights

From whence as you shall call for love

I shall have to hear no sound

Go now, I shall recede

Drown in the foam of my own seas

Yet for all that carry this curse

Like I carry a prayer, for you in my hearth 

I curse you meet the warmest of love

With whom you shall smile and retort

Go now, for the time has come to pass

My soul has burnt, so has my heart

Yet for all that carry this curse

Like I carry a memory of those long gone days

I curse you to be stronger than cold steel

While you bear the burdens of life so frail

Go now, I shall wait here

I have always found me in wait of love

Yet for all that carry this curse

Like I carry no remorse not guilt

I curse you with Joy and good will

While you dust off the regrets of my being. 

Double stitched laces

Her dreams are laces and lingerie

Her hands weave them 

yet her body has never felt its silken grace

Her dreams are warm winter nights

Her plight is cold porridge

The magic of her gentle threads

Has lit flames in many a beds

Her's is a cotton worn out sheet

A pillow of stuffed rugs

Yet she sees the ply, with utmost care

What feeds her may never be her's to wear

Yet as all vagabond poets and street artists

She can dream

A dream is all her strength

Often to weave the best, to hem them

And she shall, forever be at it

Until her eyes and hands are able

I'll come to you with the summer rain

Ease the thirst, carve you pain

then evade you, and dissuade your yearn

Vanish into the fading night

Then when you shall seek me

I will refute your claims of love

At best torment, At worst adorn your laments

wear it as my crown, mock you in my court

You are but a jester, are you not!

for you seek to amuse me, make me joyous

Then such shall be your bidding

Shall shall be your binder

Invoke my craving, curdle in woe

Show me you cannot carry anymore

Then let me reach out, touch you again

Stab your soul, bathe in your seething pain

Ammamma

Post ruby reds and crushing pain

Born like countless, countlessly over and again

While most today glorify the possibility

Unlike yesteryears when it meant a chance

When the sun hit noon that fateful day

She had cooked and cleaned and fed the many

And in her room she bore mom

Only to rest a while and carry on all over again

By the sum of her actions she is flawed

She remains my symbol of resilience

Mired in helplessness and hopelessness

She still taught mom to teach me to walk

Unlike most I know, Mom has never glorified

Of being a mom, or how her biology is great

She taught me to value a fallen leaf

That shall feed the seed to spring new greens

An estranged devaki of sorts 

Ammamma was Yashoda

Yet I am no Krishna, nor a shade of him

Yet they stood like mountains, 

Steeling my resolve, easing my pain

Taught me to teach, taught me to see

Kept me alive, kept me sane

Chakka Sambar

The sambar is ready, Chakka sambar

And Raju loves it no other way

Dosas or rice, not idlis for sure

And his heart melts and remembers it

Ammama's hand making it

My amma has tried, my baiko has tried

And I have roamed the countryside

Yet the essence of Ammama's Chakka sambar

Retains it prime position forever and on

Lotus root, mutton liver, pizza,

 tambda and pandhra rassa

Kokam kadi, rasam, seared seer fish

Squid rings, prawns, crabs, not chicken

Nothing seems to compensate

It's her perfect blend of parippus and puli

And gently cooked chakka slices

Maybe its her hand, at this point who knows

For she seems to be the only key

After 3 PM from Holy Family

When Joseph uncle would let me alight

Into the waiting arms of my ammamma

She would tell me, Raju vegam Vaa, Samabar indakitund.

Ammamma was the magic of life

She was the magic of Sambar,

Chakka Sambar

When it rains, It pours woe

Auburn hills, splitter splatter

Midst of greens, and running water

Washing the woe, so gently yet

By the cliffs, drenching the hawk's nest

Eroding the forever stones

Only to remind them, to be forever gone

Once the stream was done with them

A few thousand years, at most

I shiver as the drench hits my spine

As my kurti sticks to me, while the wind howls

It is Khandala, mid July, everywhere is, mid July

Now those days have long faded

For long my heart's grief has masqueraded

Only to be eroded, to despair, and rue

While I find no meanings in hills and boughs

Where was I, when I was to be me

Maybe I was too much in control of grief

As this cold rain hits my resentful face

I have nothing to show it, only my solemn solitude

And it's hopeless embrace.

Gems in the light, or lack thereof of either

What are rubies and sapphires?

Only gemstones, plain corundum

Slathered on sheets or stones with epoxy

Grinding metals and cutting and polishing.

One may question their value

Clear versus coarse to opaque

Some made in fire, others born of it

Some in graphite blocks, others in mud

Yet they are the same

To me they are just corundum

Like most, mediocrity bound fools

Trying to hold value in their errands as tools

Pity, ah yes, Pity 

That I do not possess for such insolent 

In their wake, they are only gravel

In the absence of light, and there is so much.

Turbid Murkiness of Life

At neoprene's behest, unbeknownst to sanity

I let the asphalt rub, mightily, uncalled for

At the ditch, post the lamps, broken posts

I found me tumbled, amongst the tumbleweed

Soberiety arrives, waits a few hours, leaves

In it I earn, yearn to forget, what I do to

Post ball and chain, it is back, me, my insanity

Instantly, drunken dancing, driving

Crashing into woods, words, worlds, wants

Always clashing, there is no remorse

Then

Soberiety arrives, waits a few hours, leaves

In it I earn, yearn to forget, what I do to

Paints

Fragmented is my reality

My pallette of only black

And the heart asks for reds

Yet I paint it in gradients

Shades of black into greys

Or the absence of either

The canvas has its colours

I paint around enclosing it

Like a storm brewing

Or like murderous barbrians rampging

Of all the good in siege

Encircled by the thirst of death

Such macabre musings are 

Such are musings of mine

I have ridiculed storms in my breath

I have ravaged the stormy seas

If life should come calling

I shall be the siren at the cliffs

Lure it into the rocky shallows

Set that wreck adrift in the seas

No moon shall shimmer a glimmer

For there is no hope to wallow for

Abandoned is beautiful mornings

Abhorred is make believe and dreams

If you still come calling

Know full well my heart is forever dark

Your cries shall hold no candle to it

For it only darkness I cast

Just Malayali Things

Who moved my uppilithathu bottles

Screamed mom, 

Just Nair Things, only Nair's know

Mom sure knows who did it

Wasn't me, I was in Mumbai

She is alone at home, been so for years 

"I haven't spoken to you in a while"

She says abruptly, after speaking an hour before

Just Malayali things, yes I guess

"Amma, I am fine. Have you eaten" I ask.

"Chakka kuru kootan" , she says adding

"I remember you roasting the kurus in the adupp"

I miss those times, 

    I remind her that was with ammamma, not her.

She sighs, "Ah yes, I wish I was there"

I ask again "Amma, are you well?"

She adds "Yes, I miss you too"

In this mix of abrupt replies

I miss her annoying me with her stupid daily soaps

Amma is fine, I just wish I was.

Nair Ammas are oddly strong, or maybe mine is.

I wait to meet her, I miss Kerala.

Songs of the Seven: #1 For all my tribes

One shall arrive

On winds that shall scatter the dust

Carrying the one

The spirit in a calf

You all should bow

To none other than the calf

And hold his hand high

For he is the bringer of life

He may forsake you and all life

To protect the little spirit

But you must not harm

For he only seeks my will

When the day arrives

Be there amongst the arid dry fields

Welcome his coming

Respect his wish

What else would I love more

Than to be drenched in your sweat

Breathing into my ears like rumbling clouds

Tingling my senses like lightning

While you like the wind turn and tumble

Pinning me down in a fierce embrace

Mixing into me like water into clay

To glisten under the moon lit night

He rolled the cart, smiled

Got my signature, refused a drink of water

He was in a hurry

He had to make deliveries

His tag said courier, he was parched though

His day was just beginning

Mid noon to late evening

Followed by nights at the hospital

Bedside by his Maa

She has been his reason to breathe

Now her's was force fed via a ventilator

She had no choice for this plight

The others were just selfish

He has had his third test,

He is clean, his clothes not so much

He has held back an ocean

To break down and cry, but Baba can't see

His sister gets him rotis, half cooked

Her 17 year hands were busy in journals

Journals don't teach life skills

They help you earn

Only to get a degree, to be employed

While ruled and herded by ones that lack

Even basic morality, let alone be an edurite

Come Monday, they will mostly die

Or their voices will

In this absence of humanity.

पुनर्स्थापित - २

शब्द हे विणून वाणी

शब्द हे विंचू चावी

कुणा कुणा, शब्द नाही

कुणी कुणी शब्दातून पाही

मला शब्द हे कविता झाली

तुला शब्द ते अनोळखी राही

शब्दांसाठी शब्दे

शब्दांच्या शोधात शब्द मिटले

राहिला फ़क्त श्वास

श्वासांच्या ध्वनित शब्द प्रेमाचे मिटले

ध्वनी होते हताश , पण तू मुग्ध होती

अभिमानाच्या शब्दांत

तर शब्द हे कविता झाली

तुला शब्द ते अनोळखी राही

प्रेम शब्दांत न कळे, 

प्रेमाचे धडे शब्दांत नाही खरें

तर, जरी

कुणा कुणा, शब्द नाही

कुणी कुणी शब्दातून पाही

शब्द हे विणून वाणी

शब्द हे विंचू चावी।

longing

I sail into the night

On gentle moonlit storms

Peace is for lesser mortals

Peace is not for me

When you dock your ships

I catch the wind in my sails

Amongst the rising dark swell

I find my mind, at home

As the raging sea roars

Singing to me its morbid tune

Keeping me afloat

Prolonging the inevitable

Until I descent into the depths

To finally find peace 

Sleeping in her bountiful embrace

Somedays I wish to curl up and die

And other days, not wake

Yet meaninglessly, another days dawns

Drafts me into its pointlessness

I have existed, spiralling into madness

Drenching my heart, in the raining venom

Wishing for death, but dragged into living

Battered by all that I hold dear

While the universe laughs

Making me unwillingly breathe

Taunting and tormenting me

Forcing me to be alive.

Quantum States

A square drawn

In 3 dimensions

Validates what I see

Yet adding another makes it difficult

As such is the mind's dilemma

If you touch 6 or so on there of

The meaning just seems to fade

Only to overwhelm what I percieve

This is my adjunct to reality

Adding dimensions to my dissociate belief

Blind, as it is

It is but better explained

In numbers, in constants, in variables

Is all that I feel pure mathematics,

Or is it just a flight of fancy?

For this is what I feel of love too

Unexplained, uncharted, and unrelenting

I shall not pursue such limitless, unaccountable thoughts

I rather sit, drink my Chardonnay 

Than fall into these emotional states of disbelief.

So Mr.Fox

Michael captures Peregrine falcons

When he isn't fending and restraining

 Beings in murderous rage and rampancy

Of broken systems and IT's mange

He has often seen

Many a youth onboard and off

They come and go like moths to a flame

Some die in the burning hells of conferences

He stands there, watchful and mild

As he gathers it all, and calms the storm

He may earn his bread there, doing his chore

But his heart is at Llela's

Amongst delicate butterflies

The blooming purple Wisterias

The pond herons.

The folly of the Silver Cow Creamer

Amidst this sweltering summer, one must wish

Like my earnest bestie, hoping rest and reprieve

Of a journey to the moon, a voyage of discovery

At that.

Then again, he at best is sold

To seeking the white light as joy or so

And I of all I should not alter

His misplaced and false mystical thought

But to him, I shall offer

A chance to consider the other view

For; while he considers there are beaches

And decides to bask on white sand dunes

He must know the moon holds nothing

Barren as the lover's soul

Rejected, in the apostasy of love

At best the song one can hear

Is Chopin's Marche Funèbrè

Which speaks of nothing joyous

But the end of arts and souls

The yachts and steamships ferry only in the not

For the moon seeks to glorify its presence

Borrowing and begging for the sun's light

Long have we thought false

Long have we raised and praised the moon

For now, if Feby should realize

It is nothing, has only ill

Living on others' soul, sapping on wanton desires

Burning the rain

Torrid rain

As she walked onto the terrace

With me following, unknown to her

I was asleep, so she must have thought

As she stood there gazing into her garden

I walked upto her, in the splatter of raindrops

On the tinny roof tops covering the adjacent roof

Stealthily, approached her from behind

Whispered naughty words as my arms swung around

She stood still, as she loves to

For she knows what follows next

For she is party to, my random raunchy retort

I turned her around and kissed her lips

And sipped the rain now in her mouth

She riled up my raging lust

Holding me abreast, she held me tight

And warmed my soul, with her flaming tongue

I stood there, in that kiss and caress

Wishing the rain would never stop.

Turn Signals

The left blinker doesn't work

He said as he let out his hand

Between the middle of nowhere on a dark road

I wondered who would care

I asked him why he chose to indicate

When the roads had only us on its face

And who would know, or remark

Or even penalise, an unlit road

That has seen no law or one to lay it

He smiled through his tobacco stained teeth

As he shifted the gear stick

He spoke of why one must respect 

It is for one's self, not just law of the land

So yes the left blinker was lost

Quite recently as I must declare

But when one's devices fail and fade out

It's one's character that shones aloud

The lone mower

The lone mower has mowed the lawns

Amidst the pandemic, amidst all odds

The lawn mower like him has come forth

In times of adversity , meeting it 

The wage is his strength, his motivation

Whilst the others like us are home

Masked, shuttered, fearing death

His wage is his keeper of life

Should he not turn up one day, 

be replaced, not mourned

Our priest that passed away last week, or two I guess

Such apathy, we forgot his end

And then we call out the others on their humanity

While our own we convinently forget

Rejected Burial by the Sea

There is rust where there was paint

And the sea shall claim dominance

For the under of the boat still dips

Though one may have tried protect it

with the livers of the whale

The sea takes what belongs to it

Buries it deep, and it is made one

The ages of men, animals, birds

Lie on the sands the water hides

If you shall ever dive, to find them 

Go forth knowing the sea's grimace

It has a distaste for those who weild

What belongs to it, 

to a point of contentiousness

Rightly so, it has pride and might

Unlike men, who ride on line of sight

Crash at its reefs, and wash ashore

Except those, the sea claims

Shall find happiness and belong to its embrace

I have been afloat, never shored 

The sea hates my guts, 

But the land hates me more.

Coherent Coversations of pseudo Sapiosexuals

I met someone who felt the need

Of meaningful conversations and unhinged deeds

Stating the mind should not mix and dilute

Should be able to undauntedly speak

Then a day passed in our ramblings

She spoke of wit, puns, and standing our ground

I spoke in tones, met her half way

And then her thought led her astray

It was never demanded we be in love

Nor was either into pangs of focus with awe

Today I found she had run for the hills

And left the conversation abruptly still

Why indulge then in heartfelt conversation

Why dive into the stormy black sea

For if one must ask, and if one should receive

Why then should one be a runaway steed.

At dusk I too return

And hop on the ledge, by my bedroom window

Those pigeons roost and annoy me

I hate them yet feed them some birdseed

They seem to ruin my window sill

They poop on my ledge and scatter feathers

The worst is their constant prattling cooing

Has often annoyed my mid noon sleep

Yet  each evening I return to see

The constant annoyance has entrenched deep

Laid eggs, raised squabs, amongst putrid leaves

One must never feed the annoyances

Like I do, for they bring nothing

Yet i ignore their wicked deeds

How many such pigeons screech

As they sap the joys through your heart's breach

Let not these gain footing and stay

For they bring nothing but utter dismay

Recollections

Hey, you remember?

the last time you were here,

you found some eggs, the eagle laid?

yes, they had hatched a while ago

the ones in my backyard are 2 generations past

and now those eaglets are old

to fly into the skies

it's cold

how they all look at me

with steely eyes, sharp beaks

I apologize, I digress

in my absurd mind i mistake these vultures for them

why have they come to me?

why do they sit at my chest

I can feel it tickle my rib

the other seems to bubble my blood

ah! little vultures

yes, they are not eagles, what was I thinking

and why would I think of you and our ledge

it was so long ago that you left

these sweet vultures are here with me while i rest

dusk seems to swiftly approach

as one of the vultures seem to carry me along

they are strong, how does it even manage

It's a simple question of weight ratios

then again, I must be hallucinating

it must one of those vivid dreams

who dreams of vultures and their sorts

Hey, you remember?

the last time you were here,

you found some eggs, the eagle laid?

yes, they had hatched a while ago

A Line-by-Line Analysis of "Recollections"

Line 1: "Hey, you remember?"

• This line establishes a conversational tone, as if the speaker is addressing a specific person. It also introduces a sense of nostalgia and longing.

Line 2: "the last time you were here,"

• This line continues the conversational tone and suggests that the speaker is reminiscing about a shared experience.

Line 3: "you found some eggs, the eagle laid?"

• This line introduces a specific memory of the shared experience, focusing on the discovery of eagle eggs.

Line 4: "yes, they had hatched a while ago"

• This line confirms the speaker's memory and suggests that the eagle eggs have since hatched.

Line 5: "the ones in my backyard are 2 generations past"

• This line introduces a contrast between the past and present, suggesting that time has passed and that the original eagle eggs have grown and reproduced.

Line 6: "and now those eaglets are old"

• This line further emphasizes the passage of time, suggesting that the eaglets from the original eggs are now adults.

Line 7: "to fly into the skies"

• This line evokes imagery of freedom and independence, suggesting that the eaglets have matured and are now capable of soaring.

Line 8: "it's cold"

• This line introduces a note of melancholy, suggesting that the speaker is feeling a sense of loss or longing.

Line 9: "how they all look at me"

• This line shifts the focus to the present, suggesting that the speaker is now observing something.

Line 10: "with steely eyes, sharp beaks"

• This line creates a vivid image of the creatures that the speaker is observing, suggesting that they are predatory and potentially dangerous.

Line 11: "I apologize, I digress"

• This line suggests that the speaker is becoming distracted or confused, potentially due to the emotional weight of their memories.

Line 12: "in my absurd mind i mistake these vultures for them"

• This line reveals that the speaker has misidentified the creatures they are observing, suggesting that they are struggling to process their emotions or reality.

Line 13: "why have they come to me?"

• This line reflects the speaker's confusion and curiosity about the presence of the creatures.

Line 14: "why do they sit at my chest"

• This line suggests that the creatures are behaving in a way that is both unusual and unsettling.

Line 15: "I can feel it tickle my rib"

• This line adds a physical dimension to the speaker's experience, suggesting that the creatures are touching them.

Line 16: "the other seems to bubble my blood"

• This line suggests that the creatures are having a profound effect on the speaker's physical and emotional state.

Line 17: "ah! little vultures"

• This line reveals that the speaker has finally correctly identified the creatures.

Line 18: "yes, they are not eagles, what was I thinking"

• This line reinforces the speaker's earlier confusion and suggests that they are struggling to make sense of their experiences.

Line 19: "and why would I think of you and our ledge"

• This line returns to the memory of the shared experience, suggesting that the speaker is connecting the present moment with their past.

Line 20: "it was so long ago that you left"

• This line emphasizes the passage of time and the loss of a loved one.

Line 21: "these sweet vultures are here with me while i rest"

• This line suggests that the speaker is finding solace or companionship in the presence of the vultures, despite their earlier fear.

Line 22: "dusk seems to swiftly approach"

• This line creates a sense of foreboding or melancholy, suggesting that the day is coming to an end.

Line 23: "as one of the vultures seem to carry me along"

• This line introduces a surreal or dreamlike element to the poem, suggesting that the speaker is losing consciousness or experiencing a hallucination.

Line 24: "they are strong, how does it even manage"

• This line suggests that the speaker is amazed by the creatures' strength and ability to lift them.

Line 25: "It's a simple question of weight ratios"

• This line is a reference to a Monty Python sketch, adding a touch of humor to the poem.

Line 26: "then again, I must be hallucinating"

• This line suggests that the speaker is realizing the absurdity of their situation and questioning their own perception of reality.

Line 27: "it must one of those vivid dreams"

• This line reinforces the idea that the speaker may be experiencing a dream or hallucination.

Line 28: "who dreams of vultures and their sorts"

• This line suggests that the speaker's experience is unusual or even bizarre.

Line 29: "Hey, you remember?"

• This line returns to the opening line of the poem, creating a sense of circularity and suggesting that the speaker is trapped in a cycle of thoughts and memories.

Line 30: "the last time you were here,"

• This line repeats the second line of the poem, further emphasizing the circular nature of the speaker's thoughts.

Line 31: "you found some eggs, the eagle laid?"

• This line repeats the third line of the poem, suggesting that the speaker is unable to escape the memory of their shared experience.

Line 32: "yes, they had hatched a while ago"

• This line repeats the fourth line of the poem, reinforcing the speaker's fixation on the past.

Overall, the poem is a complex and emotionally charged exploration of memory, loss, and the human experience. The speaker's journey is one of confusion, grief, and ultimately, acceptance. The use of vivid imagery, symbolism, and a conversational tone creates a powerful and evocative piece of writing.