Flurry
“Birds come calling, the vegetable vendor
sings through the street, day’s incredulity
never ceases to exist in ruined splendour
cyclic musings have lost their specificity
lying curled up, this wilting warm cotton
its once colourful colours, is a fading bed
and objects of meaning decay, forgotten
mind keeps playing within a line instead
like a pendulum, between the two ends
its story goes, each time with no grace
it yelps and longs to make truce, amends
the past that has robbed identity of space
disguising brooding loss lights my brow
on fire open windows, naked world blurry
where the soul lied, it is vagabond now
knocks all doors, gasps for your memory
the very first sweet one, it is unblemished
it is a favourite, housing my leaving ego
immolating future possibility, a famished
asking to begin again, in waiting to forego.”
