When I err and trigger
her to hurt in anger,
the "Sorry!"s burn in her silent terror,
my stories flop down her upper lip tremor.
Those calm eyes hide a fidgety beat within,
a stray hair drops to her cheek's murmur.
I plead once more,
I plead an hour more.
Off I go sleep in dread,
my heavens in hell, thorns beyond.
There! She sings,
a fainty old dance,
a smile benign,
lets me crawl up grand.
Category: Poetry
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Silent Burn
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Fright, Flight, Fall
You see this lady with wild hair, walking all across the pavement ahead of you, deranged, rambling in pain, almost blocking you. You sense she is hurt, lost, lonely, and never in a million lives going to be a threat, yet you try ignoring her, avoid her trajectory, leaping towards the signal, and hope it turns green oh God, rush and jump into the pedestrian crossing, all the while astonished by your flight, your fright, and the sudden descent from self-congratulatory, priestly state of altruism into the hollow pit of apathy, worse, disgust.
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Floating Points
Numbers tumble, float across,
Rows of shadows long and noisy
On the edges of an A3 sheet lay
licking fingers, scratching heads.
RamGanapathy.com 