Sunday, November 18, 2012

Waking up.

The two mirrors
in the room were
talking
when I woke up.
One , on how the morning wind
Changed to waves and reminded
her of a sea she once had a glimpse of,
at a beach side factory 
where she was made ;
the only memory she could filter
before silver nitrate glassed over.
the Other, pompously muttered on
the quality of the pinkish sun
and its many photogenic possibilities
only males (among them) could see.
the Floor, as usual was busy clicking
pictures of the Neem's graceful silhouettes
Emptiness fell with the first yawn.
The first shadow fell, like wet darkness
And everything else went back to sleep.


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