Seema Gill
The sky is spiced
with rose petal clouds
touching raggedly on
my blue black hair
Like a thirsty rider
on the zigzagged alley of her dreams
I’m chasing illusion in the calm of a whirlpool
As the winding road slides ahead
like a slithering rattlesnake
like the monsoon drizzle on a pee pal tree
like an image from Kroyer’s painting
like my heart beats with solitude
like the shining bush of stars bending down
to touch my mother’s feet
like I shiver in anticipation
The sun skitters down through a
tiny black hole in my window fantasy
And the metaphorical
rain from my words pour down
I touch the scattered vapours with my eyes
A storm gathering
cryptically intended
My finger tips are twittering like birds
My feet grow taller with a burning itch
I’m traveling through the blizzard of a time machine
I hold my vulnerability in my hands like a crystal ball
I smoke the fireflies from its intangibility
I paddle vigorously on my journey
I shut out all the other noises
The earth is spinning with me
like a woman’s raw fantasy
Showers of illusion drown themselves
in a ambiguous horizon
I’m lost in this jungle of truth bewilderment
A moon walker trapped in the light like a dead wasp
shakes me up, ruthlessly reminding
“Look, you got to keep on moving.’
(This poem was published in 'Reach'.
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