Writers’ Society

Is this the beach where
The sun-kissed air form
A sand to walk on and where
The eyes fish the horizon
From afar, yet closer
Than the writer: that’s one,
And two, you, whom made
The whispering dance
Melodic – a ritual for the ears
To invite a third: the listener,
Sit beside me to sing a poetic
Ode, but back to number two
Since the circumference
Of this circle is two times radius
Times pi. One. Two. Three. Four.
Five times two-pi: around thirty one,
Such is the glamour of
Writers’ circle – no, spherical:
A volumetric evolution,
A colourful blueprint of
The beach ball, an old kid’s
Heaven. Yours and mine,
But is this truly the beach where
The sun-kissed earth form
A rock to climb on and where
The eyes fish the clouds
From afar, yet closer
Than the timer: that’s it! Pens down!

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