Affair of a Trivial Sunday Morning

A different pattern of poem writing I tried.

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There was a silence I found self lieng in.

A silence that was rising from the waking up

Sunday drooling bypass below, running infront house;

A silence that was loiterring over the vale of

Sweat soaked long-used mattress or is it this

Monotonous humdrumed life that’s basking in

East fresh clouded pencils of ray. As I now stand on roof

Spreading puff rice broken pieces of biscuits

And stand still amongst the wingeds waltzing in

Wave of puff rice–biscuits are shells left after splash–

The sun shrouded ray piercing my bare body

Where angels have there wings, there right on upper back

Under shoulder; the wind winds whistle in my ears

Like a chasm of love that was long lost & never found

Or was found but desperately made lost for harmony

To create stories short. Silence silents silence of morning

Winds wind away the interrupted shortlived commute

Winds wind in the caws chirping chagrin; the shades

Of cloud over this roof giving the desire of having

Wings–not for any specific reason–the gust it needs

To fly like mother eagle pushes her kids for debut flight…

Winds wind in silence, silence silents silence

As lighter clicks to burn the first cigarette of the day…

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