Chimes and graffiti

Tunes brought by a rambler
Chimes softer
than the caress of a flower

A voice that sheaths the hills,
Boughs bend low, whispering to me,
A secret begins to grow

A shadow that lounges often
against the red brick wall
shakes a sleeping foot

A cycle bell rings insistently
A lost lyrebird now returns,
to complete the afternoon soiree

The wind works away
tousling some worried heads,
breathing  false hopes
whistling carelessly

The afternoon kicks some leaves around
building up an atmosphere
for the reverie

Then off it  sashays
into the branches of sun-warmed trees
leaving me staring at a wall
with some red ‘paan’  spit graffiti.

©Reena Prasad 9th October 2012

*’paan’=betel leaf+areca nut + tobacco

Published in Angle Poetry- a journal of English poetry Spring/summer issue 2013 and mentioned in the editorial too.


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