Sundial pours sand. Time. Tickling down through the ridge To reach the big round bulb.
Like we wriggle through the rigors of pain, To reach the world of sun. The shine. The brilliance.
If sun had a regulator knob, We could light it up in untimely moments, But it is in nature to dim its shine For moon to dance, stars to sing,
My star counting window has Curtains of cloud, Eyes treading through layers to catch the twinkles— Rainbow spreading mind and the tedium of cherry picking,
For I wanted to write yesterday, And today is yesterday now.
The clock ticks, Words try to form, And flow in the river of eternity Just like time, Like small waves holding hands In search of an ocean, Shimmering by the day, Soothed by the night, Boasting a sip from a lazy cup— Indolent winter unpins hair,
Forming sine curve with the flowing breeze, Letters put to barbecue, Simmering on charcoal, Warmed by the ablaze beneath,
Slow unearthing the sizzling chemistry of verse, On the verge of being created A brush of butter. A gush of wind.
Why do we complain about our urban strife when we find the cacophonous silence of the ancient so jarring
Comments
No comments found.