Smoke-filled clouds,
empty of rain
pretend otherwise;
dry spells continue in a monotonous drone
and a tiny bell,
clangs all the time:
a plate falls to the ground,
breaking like a wave;
it vibrates, unbreakable,
reflects a face, perhaps distorted;
a hand reaches out to that face,
distorts it further:
This is love of a kind.
There. It needed to be said
But it's over now...
I lost it somehow
These lines,
They smell of numbness.
Stale, brown leaves
crushed underfoot by shining shoes:
another distorted image,
of another fading day
© Geetakshi Arora, July 1, 2013
so imaginative n realistic at the same time! :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Prachi for reading! :)
ReplyDeleteYahi dualities toh blur karni hain eventually :D
I like the bit with the plate. But maybe you could have looked for a stronger image to end with, something more hard-hitting. Something seems to be missing here, slightly. But the build-up is good. Keep going :*
ReplyDeletethanks love! I thought so too, but at the moment, i thought since I talk about fading, i need a noise that dies in silence, and this one seemed apt!
ReplyDeletebut yes, now that i think, it could have been stronger :)