A sadness from future
becomes a knot around my neck.
A poisonous clot of knowledge,
it decorates me.
I look around the room
and names fall off
the register that is kept.
Books turn cold
for the lack of warm hands.
No longer will they bury the noses
and twist the glasses askew
in their last attempt
to change a perspective.
Oil stains on the keyboard
will not be kept up.
Hurried calls will not be made
to share something minute and monumental.
Cracks too will disappear from the story.
Walls knowing no inhabitant
will crookedly laugh.
A place goes cold.
It spreads out into darkness.
becomes a knot around my neck.
A poisonous clot of knowledge,
it decorates me.
I look around the room
and names fall off
the register that is kept.
Books turn cold
for the lack of warm hands.
No longer will they bury the noses
and twist the glasses askew
in their last attempt
to change a perspective.
Oil stains on the keyboard
will not be kept up.
Hurried calls will not be made
to share something minute and monumental.
Cracks too will disappear from the story.
Walls knowing no inhabitant
will crookedly laugh.
A place goes cold.
It spreads out into darkness.
4 comments:
A poisonous clot of knowledge,
it decorates me.
It somehow reminded me of Neelkanth.
@Pranab
Yes Pranab. I wrote it with such an image in mind.
'Books turn cold......'
how do you come up these ?
I genuflect before you !
@Avi
Thank you.
Post a Comment