The beautiful blur of jumbled imagery,
A shadow begging to take a firm shape,
The steam rises, and there is my bitter brew,
Its kiss sharpens my mind like a blade.
The blank page now waits for mental spills,
Cold logic brews within a caffeinated calm,
The stained connection starts inking the paper,
Callous mental dialogues meet a steady palm.
To capture ghosts that lived inside my head,
I look at the world, both the living and the dead.
The roasted, nutty brightness infuses my veins,
A racing pulse, a kick, frees what’s left unsaid.
The ghosts are caged in ink, no longer free.
The storm has settled; I seek another kiss.
The coaster’s warning, that painting on the wall—
Returns a jittery alchemy, another mental hiss.
Ajaat Anant (Rupa Bhargava)
0 Comments