Looking at you, I remember the first time we met: <br />sometime in my first grade, when the page-thirsty <br />line was running wild with its black army, trying to <br />capture every length and breadth of the white land <br />and I sat like a sparrow watching a tiger rampage; <br />while you bravely jumped out of the teacher's mouth, <br />onto my senses and with a single dot stopped its march. <br /> <br />From then till now, I remember all the times you had <br />stepped forward in the many pages of my life, stopping <br />every line according to the day’s need, setting priorities, <br />creating order and maintaining a balance of present and past, <br />and most of all I remember how perfect you were in your lynch: <br />never allowing a single phoenix to rise and how unshakable <br />you always remained after the kill: never oscillating to the past. <br /> <br />But why, when I scatter you onto the pages of my heart <br />where I need you the most, to kill those unanswerable <br />question marks that multiply like cancer and severe my days, <br />you become a heavy cannon ball and painfully roll and roll? <br />Or sublimate all your potent flesh and become a deep hole? <br />Or become the cars of a parking lot that empty at dark? <br />Or grow a sharp sickle and become another question mark?<br /><br />Pradeep Dhavakumar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/full-stop/
