Broken

seven assorted-color of chalks gray surface

Broken,
in places I cannot see.
Lost,
in spaces I cannot feel.

Where the river carves a gash
Through the road
So that none shall pass,
There is nothing to do
But sit on my arse.

I slip into those quiet places
Where broken parts meld and mend
And in lost-ness, I find a friend.

Quiet Spaces

These Four Walls (by premasagar)

She sits, dipping into the quiet spaces that dwell between the thoughts – collage of sounds and pictures that clutter the cerebral walls.

The quiet spaces – cool refreshing pools formed by the rainwater that falls, sometimes a trickle, sometimes a torrent, on the earth.

Where the water falls, seeds planted lifetimes ago find nourishment and begin to sprout and grow. Eventually to flower – petals spreading like flakes of coloured light that catch the Sun.

Petals, like invisible velvet to the fingertips – disappearing between the skin – soft, yet almost imperceptible. Their colours gold and fuchsia, deep poppy red and cornflower blue.

Early morning sunlight enters the window panes. She opens the windows and smells the air – grassy, sweet, fragrant with flowers, alive with birdsong.

The sunlight warms her eyelids, burning away the sleep of night.