The sweat melted away..the clay diluted
I write.
Champagne is not always served in seductive glasses that overlap and touch,
Lie transparent and the addiction transcendental.
Its in everyday that I unfold my folds,be the yellow tulip.
Smother,diverge,plunge with the pen on the yellow pages,
Vulnerably intermingling the brute pain with sophistry.
My world of everydayness,smells people that pass by,
The phone calls maa effortlessly does to know I am alright,
Letters,the touch of ink,and warmth of a beloved that shower fragrant shades, travelling miles.
The implicit thankyou of an old man in his wrinkled silently musing smile,
The glistening of eyes, felt looking at an old photograph that slided through the smelly old wooden closet,
The wait,train`s whistle,grasping in me a sudden nostalgia that sets,
Meeting an old friend suddenly for coffee,
joy of nothingness...
the black and white photo,
The rains and the rocks that becomes alive and smells,
He still comes to me for a penny,
For him walking on the green grass,stopping to look and ponder is life and not a theme for poetry,
My chocolate cake melts in the warmth of the heated car with my sensual desires carving out space with him.
Its warm here..I put up the glass window..its cold outside..reality perennially seeps.
He runs across the car hoping for a miracle, for a penny,and his sensual desires of living up,by nibbling a bread for today,
The red-light is green...sweat melted away..
The clay diluted....its plastic glasses...
The world in its temporal spacial division speaks,some stay silent.
As voices within and people we see by,not intriguing in reasons beyond.
The world in its quintessential unitary phenomenon, misleadingly falls into two.
Champagne and plastic glasses.
