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Crescendo

The sound was something
like this: I was facing
the window
facing the valley
and I could count precisely
the number of houses that had lit
their evening lanterns;
it was that time of the day
when the ritual of familiar tea stitches all lose ends
briefly;
her face as she was placing the ceramic
saucer on the touristy centre table
was the only silent beat.
Yesterday I called her
after watching the news and there it was
in the background. The same window
framing the hills, the same terraced hill houses -
only that very few lanterns must be left now.
She assured me there was peace
after the morning blasts, that she was looking
forward to her college-trip to the nearby beach
and that she had finally watched Titanic.
I looked at the sun spooling light back into itself.
The time signature of that distant echo has left
my low teas forever a little unfamiliar,

my evenings forever slightly unstitched.

Submitted: Thursday, September 12, 2013
Edited: Thursday, September 12, 2013


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Comments about this poem (Crescendo by Astha Gupta )

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  • Dipy Hermonite (9/24/2013 5:10:00 AM)

    Good write Astha. Have rated it.
    Could you read and rate my poem. Link is given below

    http: //www.poemhunter.com/contest-vote/your-world-my-lord/
    Regards
    Dipy

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