I wrote this poem on May 4, 2007. Why? I don't know. Do you?
Still Life
Smoke rings
Throat stings
Hands clasped like chains
Switch off the mains
You'll get a shock
The current mocks
I have just found
The shaky ground
Feet dangle mid-air
That thread you see is only a strand of hair
It cannot sew, it cannot tie
It cannot even lie
The truth is stuck to the scalp
Have you ever seen a follicle map?
It won't show you how my mind works
How stealthily emotions lurk
No one notices as they walk in
There is too much of a din
Life is crowded by many desires
Where's the time to look at a pyre?
It burns waiting for death
The bare bones of breath
Smoke rings curl
Lungs unfurl
The throat longs
For the last song.
2 comments:
blogR
Very cruel poem indeed!
In reply to your poem.....will re- post my poem here which I posted in your January blog......
circle said...
Dedicated to this still blog.
Still Life with woman....
Sometimes she seems
what she cannot seem.
A moss-colored sky
on the fringe of her skirt.
She leaves us head down,
her neck a tiny white pillar,
but bending. She does not wear
the last link, like sand
new, barely a shape in her handheld dream,
a wish bone,
light on dark, losing itself in the spin.
1/31/07 6:30 AM
Thanks for reminding us again...it is beautiful....
Baaki sab ko kuchch nahin kehna?
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