Sunday, November 6, 2011

Trickles


I’ve sat by the trickles of en-diesel-ed days
And played with pebbles in tar,
As bouquets of red and yellow and mauve
Have withered into shades of brown.

Torn into cubicle of antipodal shifts
Ours are tracks that rarely converge –
Halved by the meridian digits on clock.

Packed into cans of unmoving past
We’ve chewed over recollected passions in freeze.

Digging our hours from albums of still
We play out our acts and crave
Times that are bolted in frames. 

13 comments:

Judy Roney said...

Powerful. I, too, wish for those time that stare out at me from my frames. Great writing.

Marian said...

such strong images! i find "albums of still" particularly moving.

Poetry of the Day said...

tons of talent

Kerry O'Connor said...

Your writing talent really shines in the urban settings. A strong write here, Abin.

Mystic_Mom said...

Really nicely done.

Liliana Negoi said...

i know you from the River Journal and i'm glad to once more find your poetry :). you have an excellent hand for verse!

Kay L. Davies said...

Fabulous, Abin. You have so much to offer, so much to say, and so much ability!

Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie’s Guide to Adventurous Travel

Abin Chakraborty said...

Thank you Liliana.it was through you that I came to The River Journal.keep visiting!

Laurie Kolp said...

Abin- Wonderful poem! I especially like the first stanza.

Mary said...

Abin, dense and thoughtful writing. As Judy said, I think many crave Times bolted in frames.

Morning said...

impressive.

Jessica Prescott said...

love 'cans of unmoving past'

onkurina said...

unsettling...true...