There was no fireworks
just a tired mind
too numb to be nasty
bedraggled leaves
...
i like you best when you're sleeping,
peaceful, quiet, responsive to the slightest
...
yesterday, it was in bloom,
the flame of the forest, bordering
...
I am more of a poet than a writer and more of a reader than a poet. I scribble my thoughts mostly on my blog: http: //rashscribbles.wordpress.com. Occasionally, i try my hand at short fiction too. Most of my short fiction efforts are also posted on my blog.)
Lotus-Eater
sweet dirt, liquid and luscious
(infested, as the flower is) ,
soft petals and succulent stalk
(pliable stalk, to be bent and twisted,
sucked dry) ,
newly sugared, gold-dust drizzler
(sugar-to be tasted and discarded) ,
hold me in your slow sway
(i'm in and out of you
and on to the next of you):
write me in and rub me out but not out of you
(misread, misled and misconceived little flower)
i am just what you were seeking,
sighting and
sighing
(i'm just a reflector,
the flecks of disgusted desire, but-
fragments of your vain, veined self)
p.s: apologies to Lord Tennyson