Pioneers hang with garlands of dust
On walls full of cavities and cracks.
Beneath their yellow or moth-eaten eyes
Talks full of DAs or travel plans flutter
And spiral into stories of in-laws or sales
Sprinkled with ever-growing prices of fish
Or moans over spouses and kids.
In between these, with stiffening unease
Students or classes will creep.
The pioneers stare with spiders in eyes
And shiver in the unwelcome breeze.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Transitional Tides
The muddy river laps
Banks full of moss and rods full of rust
That lead to the alleys of stonechips and dung
With shadows of dilapidated walls.
Nursed on the mysteries of enchanting dreams
That float through the weavings of
Time, space and texts
I'm stranded and dulled as abrogated piers
Where spiders and cobwebs now sulk.
Shuttling among waves full of hyacinth and filth
I mend my old hull and haul up my sails
And wait for the flickers from lighthouse of faith
Moored among still-distant shores.
Banks full of moss and rods full of rust
That lead to the alleys of stonechips and dung
With shadows of dilapidated walls.
Nursed on the mysteries of enchanting dreams
That float through the weavings of
Time, space and texts
I'm stranded and dulled as abrogated piers
Where spiders and cobwebs now sulk.
Shuttling among waves full of hyacinth and filth
I mend my old hull and haul up my sails
And wait for the flickers from lighthouse of faith
Moored among still-distant shores.
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