Watercolor

fall season, when colors blend, when temperatures are mild and my emotions are stuck on memories

bowing my head under the cobweb

I pass beyond the vault

rusty keys in my pocket

the wind slams the door behind

 

stuck between cold and warm

a hat hangs on a hook

nor too high neither too low

sour  grapes slowly become sweet

 

I will touch nothing

walls and doors are soft

the bread is molding green potatoes sprout out white

only autumn apples stay reddish

a ray of sunlight is crawling among them

like a snake on moist ground

heels are trembling over it

bent knees are cracking

 

too much emptiness in my stomach and around

maybe it’s a Holy Friday today

and I will stay here another twenty years

not counting Sundays

 

Author's Note

This poem borrows images from old cellars, found in old village houses

Reviews

[daemok]

I really like this. It makes me think of times I spent in England. Really beautiful work here. :)

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Thank you very much :)

[Serenity Faith]

Simply elegant ^_^

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

I am happy to have you as a guest, thanks.

[Serenity Faith]

anytime ^_^

[zainul]

Very lovely poem.
Enjoyed the write.

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

A gracious thanks to you zainul.

[zainul]

I am very pleased for your lovely note.