From the color of dark white walls The tones of my imagination fade. Grand glory of historic bricks, with sharp lines. Smooth as varnish,shiny these even colored marvels. One by one they stand tall bricks of a grand white wall. As indistinguishable, even colored marvels. But today at the break of the day The glassy army will enter the field. One by one the bricks will cringe Fine lines will appear, from the focus to the fringe. The mirage of merriness Squares copulating for a life shall end. Lines will mend Pre-written history with a bend. A few of them will crumble Few others, remain. Pinks and reds will gape out of the cracks Blues and blacks, un-tame. I watch, Lost in the clinking of marbles I suspend. Bricks laugh in front of me, little by little Some happy, some pretend. In the shallow of their earthen hearts How much can they swim? A metal pendant rusts A dry rose dreams.
Articles, Poetry and Short Stories by Proma Ray.