time passes

more slowly

when we are in motion

than when we are at rest:

in the lazing heat of the summer afternoon,

the pupil of your eye dilates

like some otherworldly sun,

in the diorama of our roving eyes;

If we are but masses sailing at different speeds,

love is like the final quanta of dying stars

sucking into themselves, into

the shadows of their old glory

in the ever expanding universe,

a pulse of light shrinking into the dark of its cocoon, recombining anew.

Published by minervasperch

All offerings by R. Divya Nair

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: