When you follow your bliss, doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors and where there wouldn't be a door for anyone else -- Joseph Campbell.


I see you in the beginning of sunrises,
when we sit across from each other
at our glass-top table, trying to see our

Did I ever tell you I hope you will put down
that newspaper, because I think it smells like glue,

and because I can't see you through the folds of black and white and wrinkled words.

There are stains on our table now
- faint rings, crusted remains even,
where spotless glasses once stood side by side

And between them, from the window, seeps in
just enough of a handful of sky.


Anonymous said...

Glad to see you're writing again!

mejuhi said...

Why are there no dates in your archives, only times? Poetry:Good. Worrying:Wasteful. Yay for poem.

SV said...

keep it coming.. :)