Friday, October 8, 2010

Ghosts

The dead flit in and out
Of our daily lives
They follow us
Live with us
Years after, generations together
Evoking memories
In the shape of a nose
In a gait, posture or colour of eyes
Some still blessed for the riches shared
Many hated for their foibles
Travelling with the genes
Things you cannot break off
Some cursed again and again
With eternal damnation
By the heirs
For the diseases bequeathed
For their implacable hatred
That has driven progeny
To distant climes
Where they still live
Like ghosts
In shimmering limbos

4 comments:

P. Venugopal said...

Superb poem!!! I place it along with the best I have read by anyone.

Balachandran V said...

breathtaking! How precisely, how expertly you have cleaved the flesh from the bone!

Prabhakar said...

Thanks Venu and Balachandran. I still keep wondering about some of my relatives who went abroad after quarrelling with their parents. Hope they are all happy.

jayarajmurukkumpuzha said...

very nice..... aashamsakal...................