A Still Life

My last night’s ritual falls on this table
watching a landscape spread across, vivid blue with raw images
of skies, wrappers of sunsets.
life from life
splitting beneath the heaviness of that sky.

A shadow sits on the curtains,
carefully weeding out
like music
Observing the forms of love that occurs.
Cheeks of orange crepe, cracking
a voice so brave and young I could hear.

A bed with two chairs.
Watching things falling in a syntax
of a molted clay
shaped like rooms inside a room.

I am again pondering
over chilled cold nights
over topic about men & Gods
as the air slips through my lips.

The existence that lives outside the memory.

Published by

my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

21 thoughts on “A Still Life”

  1. I love what you did here, it ends the poem perfectly:
    “I am again pondering
    over chilled cold nights
    over topic about men & Gods
    as the air slips through my lips.
    The existence that lives outside the memory.”

    Liked by 1 person

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