Last Laps

Life, a race track of a strange kind,
laid out largely in circles.
If one is not conscious of the finishing post,
it’s endless laps after laps until…

If one is, life’s last laps – a quirky minefield.
No telling what would set off an explosion,
of unseen perspectives and fresh wisdom.
It’s never the same for them, the beat is different.

For some, life after – now an expanse without track.
Dimensions fold up, inflections collapse. Strangely,
comprehension – easier. Not for them, a sandbank
of obsession, paranoia or a sinkhole of nothingness.

Them – going about the last laps,
safely without an encounter, a tiresome
trudge to the finishing post on
two legs or less, today dissolving into morrow.

(Stray Thoughts)


4 Responses to Last Laps

  1. Gunwant Agarwal says:


    It was a wonderful poetry…
    I read it so many times…again and if meditating on this thought…


  2. Trisha says:

    fantastic insight into life. fabulous.


  3. tskraghu says:

    Thanks for the encouragement! I had made minor changes to respect the form. Trust it looks neater now.

    Liked by 1 person

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