Cups of Clay...

Bubbling tea

Ginger laced steam

Tingling nerves

Innocent smile

Cups of clay...

I ask

Where is it?

 Your piece of celebration?

Shy laughter

Crinkling crowfeet

I melt it

She says

And sell it to you

In these cups of clay...

Limitless riches

Blown in moments

Aimless glitter

My celebration

Endless nights

Relentless labour

A bag full of coins

Hers.

All of it

She drains down

In those little cups of clay...

Bokeh...

As the embers of my last cigarette

Are quietened by the wind

I look through the mist

Of nicotine ghosts....

A world cluttered with hexagons

The lives and the lifeless

All in one frame....

Like chips of coloured glass

In a playful kaleidoscope....

While my hung up mind

Chooses to surrender....

To the balmy peace

Of a consummated moon....

The wilderness sways

In my silent adoration

Of one scar- less instance

That man has failed to molest....

And I’m one

With her presence....

Whether it is her beckoning

Or a drugged nerve wreck

I know not.....

For now, I decide

To blindfold my being

In her tender embrace...

And brush off the shreds

Of worldly affliction....

To carve out the essence

Of those fathomless bokehs....