unlocked


why do i live here
in this key-
holed place?

the lock always unlocked,
and grooves unmatched in their
slick gestures,

welcoming in ignorance,

the key of kinship
bearing weights.

i don’t carry bread
nor its baskets,
i remain a shadow of
5-letters,

holding my name…

— a butter-knife —

spreading relations,
consuming every morsel
of belonging.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Image source
For With Real Toads’ Camera / Flash 55
Also linking it up with the Poetry Pantry at PU

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for about 2 months now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

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Jane Reichhold Inspired

forgotten brook

running the centuries down

locked in rock

~

distant from the world

obscured by cavernous trees

a stream flowing by

* The first haiku is written by the author Jane Reichhold. And the second one is my inspired creation. Written for Carpe Diem Special # 46.

you dream away, status

you dream away

to a distant land,

shimmering

with a glow

unearthly,

never seen before,

 .

you go prancing around-

letting your feet drown

in the desert sand,

raising your hands

letting them clutch air

and feel its feel

in the end,

 .

sit under a silver tree

crimson fruits hanging,

curb yourself

from sinking your teeth into

the luscious

spheres of poison,

 .

let your skin

absorb the bright

sunbeams,

let it burn

and sigh in relief,

 .

feel the jets of water,

on your palms,

spewing forth from

an unknown source

and grab the golden goblet

out of thin air

and have some water,

end up spilling

some of it

on your cheeks,

 .

hearing the thundering steps

of the giant

still yards away,

yet to arrive,

you do not go hide,

but run around

in no direction,

tired out,

sitting down

on a picnic bench

waiting,

 .

let yourself be grabbed

in those massive hands,

producing

an inaudible sound;

 .

the next moment

that comes to you,

you find yourself

waking up,

finding yourself

in the park,

lying under the ordinary

red maple,

rain droplets falling

over you in a certain rhythm,

a book resting

on your chest,

turned to the last page

now getting soaked;

 .

status:

you are done reading.

 

* Written in response to Wordle 112