Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Ananya S. Guha- A Poem


'' We Grow Outside Time''
 
In disdain blood strays
not shoulder to shoulder
but it stains some, twists a neck
then looks up at skies spotted
there are no stains, only color
color of myopia, short sighted
faraway. Outside, houses are runaway
skirting terror. Gun shots shriek.
Someone or thing babbles. Hammock.
Night cradles a stinging lullaby.
Crack and explosion. Horse rides.
Outside lentils grow.
We grow, outside time.


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2 comments:

  1. Dustin PickeringDecember 11, 2015 at 3:09 PM

    This poem is so enchanting simply because it imposes a rhythm of images, supposed to be real and instant but in reality they are one flash in the moment. There is disruption, one crack to the next. We are left with a simple statement on the surface that we grow outside time. The entire mirage of images, physical in nature, serve to demonstrate that motion is entire and not piecemeal. We are reminded of our own shortsighted observations, how "myopic" we are. Poets are born to twist the eyes into seeing second sight.

    ReplyDelete
  2. A.S.GuhaDecember 14, 2015 at 12:46 AM

    Thanks very much Dustin. So kind of you.

    ReplyDelete

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