To this I give
Our silent rotating nights,
Sigh of ugly buildings, steel
And Brit, stare through pure
Doors. Our various homes
names for moods, shared
secrets and soap,
Each a line on our somewhat
young palms, yawn
out memories.
Respective phobias play
quiet Persian games with dreams,
The colour of spice, so unsteel.
And then, laughter
Rolling eyes, gossip and
sudden sleep.
nehamaami 
A very good poem. You blog is nice.
Keep it up.
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The true poem rests between the words.
Good work Neha 🙂
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I like the imagery when I read it but I am trying hard to understand the allusions. 🙂
Cheers
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Looks to be a good poem but I find it difficult to understand. I am not much of a poet, though. Can you please elaborate the message….would appreciate if u can explain it line wise…..may be it could help bring out the poet inside me..Thanks
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good stuff,has g8 context.
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Zat is zo ama zing!!! Especially liked ‘so unsteel’.
Vish you many more such poems!
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Anon:
If the poem doesn’t speak to you, no amount of explaining will help. 🙂 There is no message – It celebrates a state of mind. Period.
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Hey wandered in here after quite some time (give credit to Ink for that!) And you have comments back on!
Now that is cause for celebration? Your penchant for patterns keeps getting interesting…
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