The face of cube
Flat on the floor,
It revolves and spins
Around me,
Nine orange freckles
Each time we lock eyes,
I go around too,
Slower and longer steps,
More than push and pull of
Other symmetrical bodies
Draw my orbit : untidy.
Sometimes I may see a glance
Of blue bruises neatly across your cells,
How earth says it has seen moon
In all its shapes and shades!
Eyes closed I see all colours painted
In outlines of boxes,
Red next to yellow in the same room,
Untouched, I pass,
Maybe earth does with eyes closed too,
Lingers at a perigee, ponders,
Tries to tilt in vain,
'Maybe the crescent: a handle
Of a bucket empty or drained ?'
While I wonder
On endless summer nights and
An untidy Rubik's moon.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
