Gravel crunches, A pebble thrown to the side. A leaf in parabolic flight, Swirling with the gusts of nature’s breath.
I try not to think/Of the setting sun by the Mediterranean/And the New York Times bestseller/On my chest/
like a baby clinging to her mother’s bosom…
I Try to hide behind the dark curtains of indifference/But can’t avoid the loving caress of the dying sun’s rays…
My grandmother has a box/Filled with dolls/Dirty, broken dolls/That were once whole/Friends for my mother/My mother was once a little girl
18 May is celebrated worldwide as International Museum Day. Thomas Hardy’s poem celebrates the British Museum.
You were there when that little child fell,/She bruised her leg and cried./
You felt for her, rustled your leaves,/Until her eyes dried.
The night’s a complete washout/
The eyes can’t hold the ocean/Flooding the parched soil/And does its own thing/with the mascara, the eyeliner
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,/And hopes and wishes, from all living things/Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
© Copyright 2022 | Celcius Technologies Pvt. Ltd. All Rights Reserved
Unauthorized copying or representation of any content, photograph, illustration or artwork from any section of this site is strictly prohibited.
