Wednesday, February 5, 2014

To poetry

Pluck words that mean 
different from what's been 
Words empty of deeds 
But bursting with needs 
Cause something to shift 
a detail that closes a rift 
Lie face down till dawn 
postpone every other yawn. 
Wander the brain till end 
in wait for the right send 

An end to reach 
attempting a breach
But what's been put down 
is not what is 
Only a noise of tools 
offering some ease
Other dimensions 
swell behind the blinds 
plotting something 
beyond these lines.


carp said...

"Only a noise of tools"
Lovely. :)
Keep writing!

Trinath Gaduparthi said...

Thanks Carp.