The past of the instant
Is enduring, enchanting, beautiful
While the instant itself
Dissolves gradually into starry ether

And the remnants which persist
Are voids of sheer beauty
Which remain entangled delicately
In the crevices of my mind

Floating daintily in my imagination
Bearing a life of their own
To flower, to seed and to grow
To embellish and to freely flow

For beauty belongs to no one
Owing allegiance only to itself
For it cannot ever be enslaved
By human greed or pelf

Subir Chakraborty
15th Oct 2020