Imagery Poems -8 Poem by ashok jadhav

1. A Kitchen at Dawn
Steam lifts from the kettle's mouth,
Light slips through half-closed blinds;
Bread warms the air with a humble smell
That morning always finds.
The sink holds stars of leftover night,
A sparrow taps the sill;
The kitchen wakes without a voice,
Yet says begin—be still.
2. A Deserted Bus Stop
The bench is cold with waiting's weight,
Posters peel and fade;
Time hangs loose on the timetable,
Promises half-made.
A paper cup rolls down the curb,
Wind reads the road alone;
The bus stop practices patience now
For lives that have moved on.
3. School Corridors After Class
Chalk dust floats like settled snow,
Lockers hum and rest;
Footsteps echo where laughter ran
Against the hollowed chest.
A bell's last note still lingers thin,
Trapped in the painted walls;
The corridor remembers noise
After the silence falls.
4. Streetlights in Rain
Rain stitches silver through the dark,
Streetlights bloom and blur;
Each drop becomes a trembling star
That can't decide to stay or stir.
Puddles hold the city twice,
Above and broken below;
Light learns how to be fragile here
And still insists to glow.
5. Old Letters and Ink Stains
Ink has bled into the page,
Blue veins in yellowed skin;
Each word leans toward the other now,
Afraid to break again.
The paper smells of waiting years,
Of hands that used to write;
Old letters keep their voices low
But burn with quiet light.
6. Laundry Fluttering in Wind
Shirts snap white against the sky,
Pinned like flying things;
The wind moves through familiar cloth
And teaches fabric wings.
Domestic flags declare a life
Of ordinary days;
The laundry dries its private griefs
In open, honest ways.
7. Cracked Teacups
A thin white line splits porcelain,
A fault the heat has made;
The cup still holds its morning warmth,
But trust has gently frayed.
Each sip avoids the broken place,
Yet memory leaks through;
Cracked teacups teach the hands to hold
What's damaged—still—and true.
8. Empty Chairs
Chairs wait in a careful row,
Their backs politely straight;
They know the shape of bodies gone
And how to imitate.
An empty chair is never bare—
It keeps a presence near;
Furniture learns to mourn in place
When no one else is here.