The Abandoned Poetry

A considerable amount of time had passed,

yet the pungent smell of oil continued to linger,

The spiders continued to colonise in the same corners of the room.

 

The lady by the dressing had not picked her pearls yet;

Draped in violet ash, she waited by another frame.

In this room of naked indifference,

No one seem to mind his presence,

or express any form of acknowledgment.

 

He inched thru this room full of stories and love,

He lay his coffee mug next to the wine glass and the bowl of fruits,

The stains on the expensive veneer indicated that it had been extensively and carelessly used.

 

Straight ahead he could see a rainbow arch over the bridge;

It had always been under construction-

The end colours of the rainbow had leaked into the sky,

to immaturely announce the climax of the day.

 

In comparison, the city streets were suspiciously bare and bleached,

Like the streets of Tokyo-

narrow, unexplained, and made for people who know where they were headed.

 

He walked ahead, to find old photographs from the wedding lay scattered on the ground,

He was grateful for the termites to have rerouted the path for their daily commute.
As though to respect the memory it captured-

He picked them up from the floor and smiled at how deliberate and obvious the connection now seemed.

 

A housefly buzzed to finally acknowledge his arrival,

the smell of coffee may have responsible for this grace,

He would have clapped it dead, but instead he asked it to quiet down.

and escorted himself to a stool.

 

She sat right in front of him,

He took a moment to breathe in such a beautiful possibility,

she was the most charming piece of poetry he had come across.

 

He folded his shirt as to allow his acrobatic arms to move freely,

He Spurt out the black oil from the tube to carefully line her eyes,

For this would not be like the other paintings in the room,

Abandoned.

 

By Sonia Agarwal

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