as skin sheds for another skin
and lips curl in a rueful smile
and veins stand in a soft sight
of green and black and blue,
i understand that blood thickens with
years that pass by through the organism
of a body, beginning to feel its own death.
as winter transfuses with the cold of
big bones, the elasticity of meek muscles
beckon a certain warmth of touch for
life, in the always prevailing lack of time.
i have seen the concentric circles on
my limbs change in half a decade,
and my eyes bloom in hues of hibiscus
and rising-rose, like a lamp, left with
a slight glimmer when the light has been
dimmed with the passing act of another day.
i wonder if my aging is my decline
(the wild image of calm & turmoil),
or is it the other way round?
© Anmol Arora