The days turned liquid
poisonous metal. They
flowed into the nights
making sharp darts
of pain. In seven days
decades had passed
Old pain was shoveled
and plow ready to plant.
Words of love fell like
bitter rain, burning all
it touched. The beloved
has no more to give,
no way to heal until
the earth is scorched
and done dying
crossings as in traversals, contradictions, counterpoints of the heart though often not..
Subscribe to my Substack: Signals in the Noise
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Good List
Great reflection on educating children in the present world and things that have enduring value. There is a lot in this list for any generat...
-
An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no ma...
-
Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that suc...
-
Published in Serenelight Shiv is fond of saying that he is left where magic realism meets Haiku and remembers having mentioned this to Joie...
No comments:
Post a Comment