Tuesday, January 25, 2011

waiting room

stale smell of chloroform

slither hurriedly into the nostril

chased by different forms of fear

hatching out of thin shells

.
sweaty palms make abstract art

on crumpled reports, frayed files

on which stick random thoughts

faded dreams some little lies

.
multiple projections scream

alive, livid on the wall

re-wind re-write re-shoot

re-play another dream

.
time swings slowly

each wait their turn

as her long fingers dip deep

picking the next number from the urn

.

2 comments:

Raajii said...

so good :-)

Archana Srinivasan said...

Very nice imagery!! And I love how the poem itself is shaped like an urn! :)