poem

The Test

There was little left of Time
His death a gruesome sight,
His body butchered in a secret hour
In the waking of the night;
 
There was little left of Thought
Throttled with cool, sure hands,
No more he breathes in the crushing dark
He’s fled these living lands;
 
There was nothing left of Hope
Her destruction absolute,
Her tortured screams went long unheard
Her silence now acute;
 
A girl of ghastly deeds remains
A miserable creature is she;
That awful guilt now presses down
As she stares at question No. 3
 
 
 
(c) Paroma Chakravarty 2017
Advertisements

Ode to lesser joys

To that cheerful mutt who never fails to retrieve promptly
And yet it grips still, and oh so firmly, when asked to let go

To that gloriously relieving sneeze that comes finally after
Countless feverish breaths are held only for fizzled attempts

To scurry to the nearest shelter and watch, while the sky pours away
Or to perhaps not, and brave the many drops for a moment or more

When you take a step into that pristine bit of the woods
Where you turn around and look to find, more of the woods again

When that very last word of a lengthy good book has been read
And while you have ended with relief, you quickly wish for another

Waiting and more waiting, and less waiting when you know its almost there
And the loud ringing saves you, when the final bell has been struck in time

And the sight of misty mountains which not for once, ceases to bewilder
To the many hued sky dwindling, for the twinkling night will soon follow

———————————————————————-  *

This is the work of a friend and a fellow LOTR buff, Krithik. You can find more of his stuff  at his blog Nevermore