What do I expect –
Or perhaps some jokes in sms?
Or is it my search
For a wireless bridge
From where may I hawk
My tears for her ears,
Beyond this traffic
Of everyday needs,
To float my toys
Of inflated Self,
That profits on wounds
That profits on wounds
With unconscious ease,
Stabbed as it is
With unkindest cuts?
I’ve unlocked my windows
And watch:
The unfolding play
Of unceasing flux
That burns and stings,
But regales as well,
As quietly I wait
On keys of night
In rarest of times
For symphony of showers
That soothes my soul
And opens my eyes
To a morning all-smiles
Glistening with pearls
In sunshine on leaves.
13 comments:
That profits on wounds
With unconscious ease,
Stabbed as it is
With unkindest cuts?
So true.It is so difficult to love (if you are talking about love,that is),love hurts,especially unreciprocated love -- when you reach out but she doesnt hold your hand.It is so difficult to make her listen to your tears when she has misunderstood and left.Dont lose her like I did if she does exist beyond penned lines.Good luck and happy new year.
Happy new year to you and all my other readers and followers.Hopefully my words can play out the silences we fear or long to hear.
No posts this year? Mind-clog? waiting ...
Just waiting for inspiration...
It seems we are all waiting for something or someone, while life is happening around us.
A winter poem, I think - with that certain sense of longing, of waiting... Love the poem and especially images invoked by:
symphony of showers
a morning all-smiles
Glistening with pearls
In sunshine on leaves.
A depthful poem to share with Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads. So much to think about here.
nice images... you have a flair for describing scenes with lovely words.. and i do hope for that wireless bridge to be found someday ~
I love the second stanza, where the heart is uplifted by hope and the coming of a brand new morning. Lovely writing, kiddo.
Of inflated Self,
That profits on wounds
With unconscious ease,
what a thought
This is so sad and lovely. The wireless relationships are always a challenge.... I hope you get your Christmas mail and your midnight calls. I like your poem very much.
I like this so much, in fact, I am not following you. Cheers Abin.
The unfolding play
Of unceasing flux
That's life!
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