Sunday, November 20, 2011

Molten Days

“I feel like a dark house,” he said.
“A dark house,
With a small window
That overlooks a narrow lane.”

“The window bestows me
With a small square of sunshine
That melts my days
And turns them into the air I breathe.”

A smiling stranger walking down the lane,
The fluttering loose end
Of a woman’s bright sari,
Catch my eye
And I tell myself,
‘You can see real things.
You are not dead,
Not just yet.’”


©Rasagya Kabra, November 20, 2011

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