Shrubs to shield,
If not hide,
Roving urban eyes,
Brown, short tufts,
Struggling in heat,
Earth meets hoary blue,
Sweating electric tall
dwarfs blanked thoughts
The stillness of nothingness
The search for you
I could not write to describe you.
Much as I desired to ascribe to you,
The winter and the fall in leaves of thoughts,
All my literary plans tied in frustrating knots,
Frozen in admiration,
Tired, lone, adoration,
Twigs of frail memories,
Icicles on my stories,
Yet I shall wait
Horizon hope to light
In crimson dusk,
Paint your sight.
Just that quiet unseen wave,
touch my heart , dart to weave,
hopes around sands that hurry,
onto tomorrow’s night so empty,
rushing on to welcome nothingness,
except those freeze sparks to stillness,
Lost in those eyes, so much like history,
steeped in your misty minuted mystery
Encapsulate this moment.
Let me retreat to this rare treat.
Just sit and gaze
Frozen into those eyes
I wait for every car to slow down,
parallel run, cars that moan,
like, me they too are tired,
humid, drenched in sweat,
heat, long at the intersect ,
pure water, vend a packet.
quench someone else’s thirst,
dreams are so dead and decrepit,
I fear every spirit,
haunted by some threat,
I seek a share of fortune,
illusory pelf to be strewn.
The donor is long gone.
He avoids the Sun this afternoon!
An incessant evangelist,
The hum of the air conditioner,
The fidgety jerk of the generator,
The rustle of the unread books,
Honks at meek, wearied, pedestrians,
The strokes of an over- used keyboard
The clicks of the neighbour’s mouse,
The weary wind at my window,
Guilt knocks at my drained soul,
Scheming voices of office politics,
Sighs of a hungry, tired watchman,
Dissolution of sugar into that cup of tea,
The softness of your steps on my reverie ,
The fatigued waft of your smile,
The innocence of your laughter.
Sellers of risk at every crossroad,
Long loaves of bread undated,
Unkempt pavements un-turned,
Busted shades of hope laid bare,
Kaput power, long cut not so rare,
Feline eyes adjust into this night,
Pierce this lanky impoverishment,
Hear cars shriek, stuck horns bleat,
On them the weight of yester dust
Resigned to this ignored,tired fate,
Tattered , yet unhurt, undeterred,
Dreams interred, slowly stirred,
The yeoman wait,
To cross the street’s fate.