Tuesday, October 16, 2012

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
All of it
She drains down
In those little cups of clay...


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....