Sometimes the absurdity
Of a man peeling an orange perfectly and wedging a lump of pink-red salt
In the groove between the fleshy quarters
Brings to mind the hollow soulless drain
Of traveling in a crowded train
Close to a midnight that seems to have the witchery scrubbed off
So the stars are pallid
And the moon is an orb with dried up tears
And people, listless and worn, look out their windows
With mouths partially open
No song in the rhythm of a pulsating train
No wanting or hopin’
Just as well…
Because I caught myself smiling
At the deft hands peeling the orange
And feeling quite nice
But it wasn’t really a twinkle in the Universe
It was business
And it came at a price.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
447 of 534
( Photo by Craig Gary from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-falling-woman-wearing-a-sheer-dress-5655150/) Today was a strange sort o...

-
This isn't exactly a feminist tirade, but this is written by a woman, and it is written in annoyance. You raise your girls to be sweet...
-
I visited the Crossword at Mulund. It is big, bright, noisy, and has a really chic café. There are books too. The reason I was there was to ...
No comments:
Post a Comment