it is a puddle
brown, murky, opaque
like cold, forgotten tea
sitting on a window sill
tasteless, unwanted
it is an old photograph
faded, sepia coloured memories
brown ghosts of the past
it is the brown of endless hours
of a dusty afternoon muddled together
stories like entangled cobwebs
like liquid brown eyes
that have seen too much
a dispassionate watcher of a world
that gives not a damn about it
you splash through it
with a hop and a skip
and a remorseless smirk
why do then i go fathoms deep?
why then in me does the mud seep?
4 comments:
because you're a poet.
How have you been madame ?
psmith: hey.. i'v been ok... something had gone worng with my blog setting some time back.. the comments had been disabled...finally managed to set it right.. anyway... how are u?
btw i have seen poets/writers who splash thru puddles without flinching... some people just don't get affected by things as much as others.. whether its because they are impervious or self-absorbed i can't say.. may be its a combination of both..
whatever it is.. they are happier beings.. i'd rather be in love with myself than be a poet... haha
I completely understand...Id rather be happy than be anything :) I have agonized over this myself, the tendency to see and deconstruct things others very peacefully block out and forget is quite troublesome.
A mindless focus on the here and the now combined with refusing to ask the big questions, refusing to feel sorry for the old man sitting alone on a railway station (for instance) for more than a few moments, restricting the scope of what the mind can feel....that seems to be the solution. for what its worth.
Im good really...it seems I will be spending the next year in Canada. But before that Im really looking forward to spending some time back in India. The very name gladdens my heart....India :)
"i'd rather be in love with myself than be a poet"
that should be the mantra of life! the test, if you know what I mean.
ps: nice write : )
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