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10 days,
May not always equal to 240 hours.
I was told,
Even before, the clock started ticking,
By pure white and unblemished shadows
Of my wanderlust.
The first “hello”,
May go beyond a mere greeting,
Conjoined with lips burdened with a smile.
The first “cup of tea”,
May be too hot to drink
Boiling inside a clamoring cup.
The first night,
May insinuate arrival of dawn,
Even earlier, than the firm grip of
Darkness, over moonless night loosens.
I agree, I too think somewhat on similar lines,
But if ensconcing of moments might shriek
It may sing also.
If ambience of visages might ask wind
To take leave,
It may invite zephyr also.
If sereneness of selves might be robbed off,
It may gleam with the resplendency of
Noon as well as moon also.
If 10 days might cling like a limpet
To open eyes,
They may get seized by, the desire of
Puffing away the measurement,
Of duration also.
Today, this 10th day, reminds me of
Her “goodbyes”, every morning
Which did not forget, to sweeten my lips,
Even before a word was dropped.
Their, serving me tea, in,
The golden cup of silence.
The endless prattling
which ended up drawing meanings,
For my kaleidoscopic mien and mood.
The claustrophobic heart’s
Friendship with hermitness.
And yes, the aquarium of walls, soothing eyes.
Thanks, Oh my 10 days,
You did not let hours, dictate the terms.
The number 240 had seemed,
Never ever so strange.
Pramod Khilery
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, June 01, 2007 |
| Submitted Date |
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Saturday, March 05, 2011 |
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Poets
