Circles

At first we begin with little steps
Circling around, as we always will
Called by the pull to walk the line
Only to collapse in the circle of arms
That await. If not for that circle
We would never know the line

Ever widening, our circles
As we draw them with our steps
Stretching out the lines
Working them as we work out
Our hows and whys and wherefores
We leave our mark on them
The roads that we travel
On paths relayed, relaid.

Wingspans we have none to show
But footsteps in the dust and snow
(Fading in themselves, no matter)
Carving a road for more
To follow or to know that here
Had been one, a pioneer or such
Who gyrated beyond the circle
And coloured outside the lines

There the lines they stand,
Circled in the sand, ripples
Across time do not disappear.
Even as we forget the lines we chased
Or the swoop of our embrace
We remember the grooves we carved
In the never ending race
Looping the loop as we only knew
Knowing we must leave a trace

Part II

Then, as it will, comes a time
When the width of the swoop
Or the speed of the span
Ceases to matter
In ever decreasing circles
We begin to draw the line

Even as we step in grooved paths
We dig in a little bit deeper
For the line makers
There will always be that li’l bit more.
For now, while we can
We claim it for our own

Then world begins to fade
Blurring along the edges of adventure
The knell of the known
Keening, comforting, pulsating lure
Beckons. Every step thence
A deep sigh of relief, this is easy
I have stepped this way before

Then those become our circles
Our chosen ones, they are chosen again
Did we make them by stepping so
Or did they make us, taking us to
Places that are familiar
Staking them as our own

These are marked deeper
And we know them well
See, how our feet fit them perfectly
As if they were made for us
And us for them, forgetting
As one does with age
(When it is all about repetition)
That we made them for us.

The bed that we must lie in
Was not built in a day
And habits die hard
As we do, living in the glow of yesterday
The light that comes from the fires we brewed
We toe the line to our circles renewed.

(c) Meeta Sengupta

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