Saturday, February 03, 2007

A Wait

I await.

Like the dry parched earth that awaits the downpour of monsoon,
Like the cold winter air that waits for the warmth of the sun,
Like the lonely sailing ship that longs for the sight of land,
Like the heavy dark evening sky that waits for relieving moonlight,

I await.

Like the old brass lamp that again longs to smell of oil,
Like the hinge of the squeaking gate that aches for good grease,
Like the cracked cup that yearns to hold water again,
Like the forgotten easel that hopes for a creative canvas,

I await, to hold the hand that has left me.

1 comment:

yogesh raj said...

Why is this habitus of waiting?

Centuries have passed by, but this notion of one half (almost always, a female) waiting (and hence static) for the other half (almost always a male), who is dynamic and a passerby) has endured to this day. Nothing wrong with that, but there never has been any reversal of roles!

So a man is see packing the bags and leaving home, while his better half, puts her head on the wooden door sill. Never otherwise!

The poem is good, especially the second stanza: The voice sounds full of solitude and sufferance. Certain imageries like those in the first stanze (dry parched earth waiting for a downpour, cold winter waiting for the sun, or sailing ship waiting for the sight of land etc.) are too repetitive.

The three lines of the second stanza are brilliant, although I would consider changing the phrase 'cracked cup' to 'chapped jar' even though the first has the benefit of a homophony sequel.

Eagerly awaiting to read more of your poems!