Saturday, March 7, 2015

Permanently piled-up

The writing barely legible,
More like
Scribbling
Or as mum used to put it,
The gait of
A centipede
Soused in ink.
No amount of
“Finger-exercising”,
As the teachers
Used to put it,
Helped improve.
Yes,
The writing barely legible!
Each home-visit,
I sit down to
Clean up
The little mahogany-bureau,
From where
They keep falling down,
Bits of papers,
Fractured poems, prose, verses;
Random, inarticulate,
Ambitious attempts.
Little creased capsules,
From yesterday,
Those end up
Being smoothed,
Read,
Re-read
And caressed.
The caplets,
Filling up
The capsule,
Dissolving
With time.
Every visit,
The pile is sorted,
But never screened.

2 comments:

  1. I loved this description, "The gait of/ A centipede/ Soused in ink." I could visualize it perfectly. Once again, Ruby, a beautiful, thought-provoking poem.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much Tara. It is so heartening to hear from you

      Delete

Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.