Poem on The Sly

It’s almost like
I grab her and press her against the wall
In a warm, cosy recess in time and place
In the middle of a busy hour,
drawing something like —
‘Hey! What’s this all about!”
Accompanied by a peel of pianoesque laughter,
Then melting into each other’s arms
for that million-year-long split second.

The sky would peek —
Only from around the concrete ogres.
The odd flowers that are,
When they are not whoring away their beauty
to stones dull or sparkling,
each spare an indulgent smile at us lovers.

I reach out
Reach out for the blues,
The sun scorch my hand in the quest,
The sun that otherwise makes my days what they are.

This is how I steal poetry
that blossoms within,
loved but uncared,
This is how I sneak a little time for the dewdrop
That sometimes become a diamond
By the same sun that scorches me . . .


About Surya Sunder

Anglophone Bibliophile
This entry was posted in Out of The Blue and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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