sunset at Pratapgarh fort

the lone bird streaked across the sky,
the last desperate fling of a tamed sun
sinking slowly from the scene of struggle,
behind the mountains.
beyond the horizon
Pratapgarh glowed in a strange hue
its open wounds and battle scars
bathed in the red and yellow glory
defying the sun to try again.

I worried about the objective correlative
when you took my hand in yours
and then I understood.

(I am sentimental about this verse written in Mahabaleshwar in early 1972.)