Saturday, July 25, 2009

These Lives of Quiet Desperation.

My words are never found
where you like to look for them.
But in the 20 inches
of sparks and smoke in between.

Draped on bare walls,
spilled on the red carpet.
Or perhaps in your black coffee,
that tasted like Quinine.

Mute, and silent.
My words still hang in the air.
Though they would rather
be wrapped around you,
than nestle in melancholy.

You ask me why
I do not speak.
My silence is awkward,
jarring, and indiscreet.

And yet those words of mine,
will still wish upon a lost cause.
That you grasp them soon,
and stay.

6 comments:

param said...

gud job

lemon girl said...

It's been a long time since I came reading here, blame it on the lack of inspiration to read.

But, you just made me fall in love with you and the blog all over again.

Sherry Wasandi said...

@ param : I see how this has a lot to do with the genre. :) I'm exceptionally talented at being pathetic!


@ lemon girl : Missed you in the bloggerhood!
Glad you're back, and I'm thoroughly flattered...!
Hope the internship went well.

Srivatsan said...

Im sorry,though i have read it 5 times now,the meaning of this poem doesnt reach my brain.:(
Can i guess??its about a girl asking her lover to stay or waiting for proposal from him??

Sherry Wasandi said...

I'm afraid all I can offer, instead of an explanation, is a smile.

:)


Evasion was once my talent. No more, it seems..

suraj sharma said...

i like it. voting for it (on indiblogger).
you won't believe the kind of drivel people are calling poetry these days. yours is slightly better. the keyword being better, not slightly.