Source: Hands and Feet – Visual Verse
Source: The Keeper – Visual Verse
Got a poem’Let Me Go’ in this stupendous issue of GloMag which is a print issue and will be in national libraries in India.
Let Me Go
When you sit with me on the bench, your arm
around my shoulders, I wonder
Will the sun ever cease to be?
It is a homecoming of sorts
The birds, done with twittering
are settling into a twilight made soft with twigs
Dusk is a tender stole
thrown over us, silently
The gold drowns abruptly
like a cold word in a warm heart
leaving us staring at an aftermath of glory
Could you slide your fingers a little bit down?
There is a sorry dream stuck there
-a tiny rustle of wings
squirming to meet a breeze
Let me go now
so that I can follow that bird
across the darkening fields
and to you, return
before it is too late
Thrilled to be back at Duane’s awesome PoeTree. A prayer and a wish for all the lovely people we have in our lives- May they endure 🙏
For months now, I have been poeming on treadmills so this was natural.
‘Escape Artists’ up at Visual Verse. Wonderful anthology, totally inspiring images.
Source: Escape Artists – Visual Verse
Image by Manon Bellet
THE COLOUR OF A THEFT
The theft was a subtle art of the heart.You seem to have exonerated yourself over time, sporting the same blue as a bedspread, a curtain, a wallpaper and your profile cover but for the robbed, the blue is a tear, a gash over the darker midnight hues which at times resembles a defeated umbrella ripped by the elements and at others, a head bent in prayer, palms clasping something that they are loathe to let go of. A garden at sunset, a music that waits up, for a cycle bell trill, to flow into a wild dance unseen, unheard but then the blue was a delicate cloud over a sunset. A clash of colors, they were destined to be mismatched and one scorched. but inside the veil, the view is still delicious. Nothing disturbs the bird with its soft, white train. It sits with its gaze fixed on the moon for the same moon looks at the other side too, a little more pensive, a little more enamored. It looks at you as you go about humming in that dark blue tee unaware that the ocean just blocks away, is humming with you. The sky positions its clouds to bounce off your thoughts reflecting them through a pattering of rain. What you thought were two kites is actually just one, in love with the wind that tore it into two. Caged within itself, the blue is a butterfly remembering a net, closing its eyes to the savage rents in it. Not wishing to leave. Not willing to fly.