Cloud in the Ramzaan Moon
Awake at 4 am,
when night is still sleeping,
and the day asks itself
the purpose of waking again.
I walked to the edge of my flat,
a peered around the slightly warm,
sweetish aroma
of two lives that lived within.
Then bored,
turned to stare at the sky.
Dark, dark like brooding.
no trace of the blues,
no the swirls of the winds,
just a vacant yawn between two
building with the same people
sleeping the same dreams.
One cloud hung,
hanging by an invisible tread,
lit by the Ramzaan moon.
Proud of the silver fringe.
A whisper passed my ear,
and I turned to look from where.
Nothing!
And my cloud in the Ramzaan moon
vanished into the space.
Shaking my head,
shaking itself to sleep.
I walked onto the bed
and threw the sodden sheets,
and woke up again to the shrill
Alarm ringing in the ear.
And the begining of another day.
18 November 2004
(c) sunil r nair, 2004
my first poem written directly on the blog. please do comment. and pardon the spellings - spellchecker on the blink
when night is still sleeping,
and the day asks itself
the purpose of waking again.
I walked to the edge of my flat,
a peered around the slightly warm,
sweetish aroma
of two lives that lived within.
Then bored,
turned to stare at the sky.
Dark, dark like brooding.
no trace of the blues,
no the swirls of the winds,
just a vacant yawn between two
building with the same people
sleeping the same dreams.
One cloud hung,
hanging by an invisible tread,
lit by the Ramzaan moon.
Proud of the silver fringe.
A whisper passed my ear,
and I turned to look from where.
Nothing!
And my cloud in the Ramzaan moon
vanished into the space.
Shaking my head,
shaking itself to sleep.
I walked onto the bed
and threw the sodden sheets,
and woke up again to the shrill
Alarm ringing in the ear.
And the begining of another day.
18 November 2004
(c) sunil r nair, 2004
my first poem written directly on the blog. please do comment. and pardon the spellings - spellchecker on the blink
Labels: poetry
Selected by Anonymous |
13:17 |
3 Comments:
They say a new moon was out that day.
And though it is too late, I wish
I'd been up, on that roof
right beside the old man crouching on the tiles,
waiting for a new moon.
This one gives me a taste of the surreal. I noticed that most of your poems on the blog are reproductions of your published work but its so nice to read something more direct. I find it full of feeling - almost as if I up there watching the moon and the cloud. The whole effect of your description is to charm me into deference for the Ramzan moon and into being as Muslim as I could be without actually being one. Cheers!
Agree with all of the comments above. The imagery is stunning.
Post a Comment
<< Front Page