A blank page is a portal, or
An emptiness, inviting,
A sail to catch imagination's winds
And voyage far from where we now despair.
We drift within, to worlds which would make right
The wrong of being mortal.
Our words are bait to catch your eyes,
The chapters, nets to haul in schools
Of darting, silver, inattention
Glancing off unfathomed, sunlit shoals.
Am I your albatross to weigh you down?
Are you my owl upon this pea-green sea?
Or are we mutinous, alone,
A ghost ship in Sargasso's tight embrace?
A blank page is a flag,
Lowered to half-mast,
To mourn our wonder's passing.
A blank page waves, surrender to the siege,
Or cashes carte blanch to unlimited power.
A servant to quixotic chivalry,
Now bears an invitation:
R.S.V.P.
- Sitaram
7-24-05
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