Staring at her beautiful heaving breasts,
drinking the nectar of her sweet dreams’ smile,
amused by the whims of her delicate silhouette,
he slept in a confused solitude.
A lifetime he had spent in the closed eyes, hoping
to find a longing in the depth of their blackness,
searching for a search in return.
As every turn of the hourglass stained
his inebriation with cold splashes of blood
familiar in its vanishing warmth,
accouchement resembled a dank prison floor;
silences began to lose their tranquility and spat out,
in spasms, the violent desolate.
And excavated reasons only pricked him
like a rare cactus in that barren landscape.
In scattered tangibles within those spaces
he wept in a disturbance, alone.
© 2007 Ritwik Banerjee
Low Tide by
Ritwik Banerjee is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.