A voice from somewhere asked
How are you feeling today?
I realized in that instance
It had been so long, since
I had stopped and rested
Fed the soul, and let go
Of all the hustle and bustle
This constant busyness
To be present and focussed
That has left me drained;
Until all that remains
Is a feeble noise in my head
“There’s still time to mend!”
I think of the moon as made of handmade paper with ink spots, so I wrote an #imagistpoem combining this thought and the common theme of forlorn lovers and the moon.
Once a rectangular note
Your love letter
Now distorted;
A crumpled orb
With corners peeking
Like the crescent of a
Paper moon waiting
To come full circle
One day we’ll meet
Under the Gulmohur tree
Not to find shaded solace
From the dripping summer heat
But to touch its crimson blooms
That carry the flamboyance
Of a forever romance
We’ll stand there at sunset
Fingers entwined, waiting
For that carefree innocence
To slowly rub into our veins
And make our forgetful souls
Remember our lost love again
She left me waiting
Holding porcelain tears
In my heart so full
It was ready to burst;
Bone china dreams
Brimming with whispers
Of promised togetherness
Now threaten to crack;
With pain throbbing in veins
Heated rage of being alone
Burns me from within,
Staining with fine details
Forlorn thoughts of longing
We thought we had time
But it had already slipped away
Like sand through our fingers.
We stood there at the crossroads
With the crinkle of dust particles
In our calloused palms
We were taken by surprise
And then we wanted to hide
All the dreaded disappointment
Of running out of the hours
We had earmarked to live life
Blue Pen Strokes 