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Wisps of Mental Whispers

Shying away from the naked breeze,

Soft tendrils of black and white locks,

Cross my sensual face in a hurry.

Looking through those wisps of hair,

The child in me is awakened to count,

The strands that careen my eyelashes.

Petite knots that run near my nostrils,

Quiver as if a storm has befallen,

Only to move past swiftly to my lips.

Enjoying the play of zephyr on me,

I tie my hair up with eyes closed,

Swinging to sweet childhood memories.

I dig up from the depth of the past,

Bare feet running in the fields of open,

And burning hands in the lost tug of wars.

Curious attic discoveries with the ladder,

And ghost stories surrounding lonely trees,

Walk past my memory scan.

I replay again and again those moments of,

My silence upon seeing the contours of clouds,

And a wide gap at the screeching pulleys.

Hearing the loud knocks of my door,

I refuse to move from the windowsill,

Only to continue my reminiscences.

Lo! Like those disarrayed puzzles,

Caught in a storm of beastly order,

My memories shuffle in quick succession.

Pulling out my boyish pranks in front,

A neat collage of the past in black and white,

Gets knotted to my utter surprise.

Pleased with my brain of splendour today,

I glance through the window slowly,

To paint my mind work with cosmic colours.

With the pounding of steps closer and closer,

And the known voices nearer and nearer,

I like back on my bed with a false humility.

Sshhh! Let me do my own colouring later,

As the mental doctor enters my room,

To trigger me sleep of irrelevant dreams of colours.

By Padmaja Balaji



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