Squares are gratifying,
neat, structured equilibrium.
A flattened finality,
reproduced in modern dwellings,
in handkerchiefs, in leaflets.
In the television that encloses-
for the mind yearning to forget.
Circles, I see in daily living,
the simplest symbol of
of seasons, menstruation cycles
birth, death and re-birth.
Rectangles, personification of
The urban garden of conclusiveness,
a four lined copybook of
carefully emulated alphabets.
But triangles loath I, fear too
their vacant supercilious shapes.
Odd numbered, indivisible
sometimes fraught with fractions-
triangles made me share him with her-
Me, him, her
Me, mine, him,
Him, me, her
Angle A, Angle B, Angle C
Acute, obtuse, isosceles,
slithering, shape shifting, sometimes-
a rigid unforgiving right angle,
at times equilateral which is worse,
as I get what she gets-
nothing more, nothing less,
then the possessive scalene that
fluctuates hope and despair!
Caught in the unchangeable rules
of triangle inequality, a tragic game,
So far apart, what painful perfection!
And one day it will break
the fixed lines, oh, it can’t go on indeed!
this seamless connection of agony-
he will go, she will go
Angle A and Angle B
and only C will remain,
no longer the part of-
a perfect line of you and me
but just another lonely point,
a dot, period.
Inspired after reading a Maths textbook.