You Know?

Ask not for whom the Conch bellows:
enter
and
leave
how you came-
your journey
outward
brings you into
an inner peace of
surroundings made new, for a change-
windy, spirally
blown in twists and turns
a sojourn focused on the return
empty space, bounded by outlined shape
and form
A hero’s shoulders not quite forlorn, eternal
environs of prehistoric ferns,
drapings of a primeval forest
the place where I go, once spurned
as if to learn lessons of my launch
out of lukewarm society
was it fake piety or cold, tight lips staunch?
Lord Krishna says, “Why so blue?”
“Hearye not the war-time conch?”
“You know,�
you know what you must do!”