There you are – all of you
Standing at attention
Ready for an inspection.
Are your jackets clean, dust free?
But I see a speck here and a little there.
Does History precede Fiction (or Is History made of Fiction)?
Does Poetry weigh the same as Narrative?
Biography and Comics?
Philosophy beckons with a cynical smile – To be or…
Languages jostle for priority
Religion advises “Let It Be”
All these are mere ripples.
For Emily and Elizabeth stand silent
Within they are the stormy sisters.
Richard and Bill nod in agreement.
Howard and Sylvia know it’s definitely zoo time
Not a Lazarus back from the grave.
Tony and Eric are composed
For they celebrate uncommon people.
Sophie, not to be left out, asserts it’s her world.
But Anne, dear Anne, cries
“Let me out, where there’s fresh air and laughter.”
Time, that little winged bird, flies with me by its side
In hand with my treasures,my sumptuous feast of words.
You sauntered in, relaxed
And curled up in your favorite chair
Waiting patiently for time
Offering me the warmth of your lap
A silent caress, a lingering embrace
And I - lost in the sunny bylanes of joy
Inhaled the fragrance of nostalgia
Soaked the fleeting moments of togetherness
And then - as if not to wake me
You gently slid away, one moment at a time
Careful not to shatter
Into a million fragments
My little piece of heaven.
© Esther Paul
Vacant windows gaze at the street below
Ennui strikes a chord on time
Four pairs that follow the shadows behind
Curls of smoke that play a lazy game
Sunset brings them back again
Scrutinizing every moment
Ears keen on each step made
Hope and expectation
For a handful that can satiate
Night reveals the windows with pictures painted
Of someone walking slowly towards them
And then- snowfall.
© Esther Paul
Oceans of the Mind
To be destructive ,they say,
Burnt limbs,sockets that stare,
Innocence ripped out of the womb.
Burnt branches silhouetted in a
Is our Right
To walk on the sea,they say,
Lost Children of the Promised Land
Innocence strapped to fire.
Crucifictions on channels wide
With apple juice to pep up the fun.
Manipulation for birthright
Is our Covenant-yes,by Might
— The End —