The Cry Of The Salmon Poem by sajal anand

The Cry Of The Salmon



in some accelerated moments of life
i gather between my knee
my dilapidated naps,
i go out, searching for a
prologue, a role....
address and oscullations,
wither and wrench,
in the womb of contexts.
and the cries and laughters,
lay silent in their internal monologues,

buried nails, dried leaves
and photographs without a shine
they caress the walls,
with uneven skin
and the congress of spirits end like this...
the journey cracks,
slowly, and even slowly...
the --weeps without sentiments
and the caravan of pebbles
slips once again,
towards the broken cottage of the old seer

so the artificial show of rainbow
is lost,
cursing the clouds
like floating algae in a blue blue sea

now i have to give it a pause,
as the poem has gone long,
and i am still looking for the prologue...
its nothing, but the evil poetic license,
who is still scratching his head..
so now, a long hmmmm,

ah! smoke, smoke, smoke..
making face like demons,
silence...........
just that,
it ends.
-- sajal

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