Friday, August 29, 2008

We are stories

Untold, and eagerly waiting
to be picked up
By a grandmother feeding the child.

She narrates us while making morsels
and scraping her hand
against the edges of the plate.

Perched on the threshold
the child listens intently
and gazes at a twittering sparrow.

We are forgotten there at the threshold
till one day beyond the seas;
That twitter of a sparrow brings back
the morsels in twilight
To that child, now a man

3 comments:

Rukhiya said...

There is this sense of realism your writes are soaked in, one has to nod heads each time your quill speaks!

Avi said...

The personification of story was too good...esp. in the way they're forgotten!

Musings of a wanderer said...

Thanks Rukhiya for your read.

Thanks Avi.