Wednesday, April 28, 2010
A poem I wrote some time back. There are days when the magic of light and shadow transports us to a matrix where time stops and suspended in this warp we look at this existence differently.
Smell of boiling milk
Spilling through the kitchen window
And your hands on the table
The window brings in the sky
And the warm sunlit breeze
Speaking of a blank dazed noon
When a black bird sang outside
And broke the silence blanketing us
Smells of paint, varnish and white wash...
Shadow dance of leaves on white bed spread
Your hands entwined on the table
Take me to that warm dazed noon
with pregnant curtains and stark blue sky