Night ogling at corrections, the tinkle of AC
blades, clitter clatter of keyboard – Clapton’s broken w-or-d-s, sewerage pipes
flushed with tin breaths, wreaths on cold statues, loudspeakers shut in terse
words, flags that divide frontiers, assembly speeches growing as weeds near
forlorn rose bushes, the stars trying to find Vinent Van Gogh on chilled window
panes, street lights extending their fingers to scribble something on the outer
walls, flush of their orange glow drained in dragonfly sorbet...! The cold
black letters wet with print ink soak fumes of news. Poetry b…l…e…e…d…s between
the gutter separating hundred columns on the chest of a dripping masthead. The
dim morning lights see ghosts rising from the cheeks of broadsheets...!
- For Mohammad Zahid
END
(Published in an issue of online journal Open Road Review)
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