Friday, April 10, 2015

Adjoining Way

The stupor air always lends itself
to extend the long mile
I walk every day to bus stop

To the lengthening mile,
I always treaded my steps with care,
for even the slightest misstep can make
my grandmother, who sees me
from the balcony in metres high
above me, chatter or blare
at her star’s face.

Choirs of birds
clears the cold,
sleeted isle of enclosed doors,
and thaw the frozen bulbs of tears.

The brick-paved ground
cuddles in solaces,
and entwine themselves
with a deep, unspoken word. I knelt,
to feel its grace again,

only to find weeps will not
give back the golden,
brittle stares at the mirror.

The adjoining way, now silent
without chatters.