This is not a season of the expected

This is not a season of the expected prose poem

Those aerodynamic seconds
when Tarzan catapults between climbers
through wild greens

A nose sprouted on my scalp
steers my body into wheels of motion
as the doormat whisked from under, flutters

Into a maze of colour then
of frolic and temporariness
a still born time, hiccuping between past and present

Memory smeared by nights alone
a collective paranormal existence
where the make-shift seems hyper real

Lights, they jump off the street lamps
knifing through parallel ripples of the Sabarmati
those twisted, blazing, glistening, streamers

Rabbits and dragons of the moon
chased away by forest fires
to welcome a grandma underneath a banyan tree

Silhouette, rising
splashed against the skies
a frame between the north pole and the orion

(new found freedom, exploring a new city, falling in love and just beginning to stand up alone.)

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Applause! This one is a riot of imagination and fantasy..Wonderful images like painting on a canvas, your words make it all seem real. Great job @Pooja_Ugrani !


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