Eyes bulge and burn
In a circle I spin a
turn
Silhouettes rise and
shine
Silence serves a red
wine
Drenching the
parched throat
I am mesmerised to
float
Beckoned by my hand
Winding through the
clock of sand
The grains are cupped
in my palm
I smear them on the
head like a psalm
Galloping to wash within, wipe away
But Innuendos feed
me a leeway
The darkest of the hours
stares at me
Stealing the light, to let me be,
Of my lambent thoughts, to cast a spell
In the depth of darkness I dwell
I especially like "the darkest of the hours stares at me...stealing the light...."
ReplyDeletei thought the capture of the sand, like through the hour glass and the smear of them on the head to be quite evocative...
ReplyDeletedwelling in the depths of darkness --- what a way to end this poem!
ReplyDeleteI too love the line Sherry chose...I feel there are parts of all of us that dwell in darkness. Beautiful piece!
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written, Akila. I love the way every poet sees or feels a prompt word differently. My nocturne is not yours, nor yours mine, but both are true.
ReplyDeleteK
OOooh, you really did cast a spell!
ReplyDeleteYours is enchanting!
:D
Innuendos feed me a leeway... love that!
ReplyDeleteOh that dark within is the worst kind!
ReplyDeleteVery original.
ReplyDeleteI like the image in this:
ReplyDelete"Beckoned by my hand"
Great response, Akila!
Wonderful. I have experienced those dark hours staring at me as well. Disconcerting, but not unexpected.
ReplyDeleteOf my lambent thoughts, to cast a spell
ReplyDeleteIn the depth of darkness I dwell
One often is led along a garden path that tends to damper one's thoughts. It may even cause one to be discouraged! That's how I read the above. Rightly so, Akila!
Hank
Your idea has been laid out very succinctly, and the rhymes give a wonderful cadence to the piece.
ReplyDelete