Time’s hands find no direction,
They hover at half past two.
Firewood charred, black ash;
Warm amber flame
cold blue.
They hover at half past two.
Firewood charred, black ash;
Warm amber flame
cold blue.
Once joyful hum of birdsong,
Now an incessant dreary tune.
Shadows elude the sunlight
And darkness prevails
too soon.
Thoughts, they have no meaning,
To sleep is a waste of time.
Questions have no answers;
Reasons have no
rhyme.
Eyes vacant and unseeing,
Lungs empty but frozen breath.
Taste and touch, now numbness;
Pervades the scent of
death.
The day the pulse stopped dancing,
Now marble cold, blue shell.
It was that day not long ago;
The day the sky
fell.
Brilliant poem..i defineitely enjoyed your blog thoroughly:)
ReplyDeletethanks
-narendra
looooove it
ReplyDeleteThe day the pulse stopped dancing,
ReplyDeleteNow marble cold, blue shell.
It was that day not long ago;
The day the sky
fell...
I can sense the experience that led to this poem... I can feel the emotion. Good job.
Thanks! Yes, unfortunately i can only write poetry when i am sad, upset, angry. I never write one when i'm happy, which in itself is sad. I wish i could force myself but sadly, i cannot. I just have to wait until the sky darkens...
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this, your emotions show in your work.
ReplyDelete