It is in the blowing of winds and thoughts-
In the Fragments of coherence.
Beauty swings. Laughter slides.
The sun-tanned sands of time crawl
In metaphorical rhythm.
Meaning floats like a dawn-lingering fog.
Damp yet almost non-existent. Gentle yet
At times blurring.
I wonder about anything and everything- childishly curious.
Streets that extend in front of my eyes like
Darkness at midnight.
A blend of happenings.
A welding of perception.
A farrago of senselessness.
I am compelled to question every word
That comes to mind
And then follow this uncertainty
By inquisitive why’s.
Wings flutter. Shadows reflect on opposite surfaces.
Distances. One might think of speed.
The ever-turning carousel-
Red freckles that eventually sink into the wrinkled
Oceans of time.
Time that brings with it only more time...
Clocks that tick..
Bells that chime...
Mishappenings and rhyme
That only add to the dusty
Contents of memory.
Copyright © farah chamma