IN THE PINK OF CONDITION (A sonnet)
Summer outside, and still chilling inside.
Sometimes I feel the blue as icing sky,
But if I watch the lines drawn by the tide
In ripples and in shivers I rely.
The weariness of limbs and of the mind
- symptoms are blazing sun and fading grass -
I cannot bear: the page is turning blind,
And sand is spilling out from the hourglass.
And even if I run, the world stands still
Arrhythmically breathing, harsh and rough.
I would not dare to ask a fresh refill:
I have to make it do, oddly enough.
In the pink of condition, the season looks so fair:
When everything is motionless, you crumble while you stare.
(Previous version of the last couplet:
"In the pink of condition, the season looks so pale:
When everything is motionless, you can’t outrun the snail.")
(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)