Noon

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.




Noon

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

And us...