The call never came

Thinking nights cannot easily sleep
Full of dark secrets in the belly
That rise as smoky-eyed dreams,
When awareness takes abrupt turn.
The tree stood mute by the temple
A man cogitated on the veranda
Another, on his knees, stared at the river
An old man squatted, his head bent,
Among turbaned men of another time,
Awaiting the call from across the river.
Actually the call has never come
It never comes in dreams and art.

Comments:
 
penname   penname wrote
on 12/7/2008 7:48:33 AM
once again the last two lines are the best. you really know how to create and end a great poem. wonderful work of art poignant, profound, deep and most dark with such light at the end of the stanza and tunnel

nisheedhi
Poetry
Free Verse
writing nisheedhi
Poetry based upon actual experiences, not one thought up in the intellectual aridness of a pseudo-thinker. Words as they mean in the specific context of recollected thought or image , not meaning several things at a time but that which re-creates an aura or a haze of an earlier experience.
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