Linear Shift

Lines and dots

are matters of perspective;

Storms can be liberating

and peace deceptive;

With harsh words,

love can sometimes be expressed;

And with gentle creativeness, 

worlds can be destroyed:

It takes a word

by something powerful

to cause fires:

Bodies walk across bridges

looking relentlessly forward with vacant eyes,

yearning for something familiar,

yearning for something

to call their own:

A home (even a make-shift one),

a place to rest.

Bloodshot eyes,

gaze ahead,

quite drained of tears

from years of cumulative agony:

Safely trapped in prisons of love

© Geetakshi Arora

January 27, 2014

Breaking into Prisons

It was a rare moment,

a melting away of the past;

like dirty, bitter snow,

the prison dissolved;

Its cold chains breaking

to release something shrivelled up,

something still somewhat alive;

Enraptured, it crashed into a mirror

and broke into a thousand pieces,

which echoed every drop of blood,

and each wasted sigh;

It was a rare moment

of painted beauty;

a canvas of a well-thought

game of deceit.

And so it continued–

Another prison was made

with coloured powder this time;

Scarlet, yellow and green:

Disguised. Beloved.

© Geetakshi Arora

January 26, 2014

Cracks in Smoke

Dissolving in two's and five's,

a naked dream sits untouched,

till it rises up into the sky

leaving behind a burning,

orange darkness that glows

as it throws wild shadows 

on broken walls.

They say embers may cause burns;

But what of burning shadows

that change and disappear

like clouds on the surface of

a frenzied lake,

disappearing and rejoining

like colourful blocks of a child's toy-world?

Misplaced and abused,

the shivering clouds disappear,

extinguishing cooling embers

With an abrupt hiss of miserable tears

©Geetakshi Arora

January 9, 2014