Permafrost

There is haze that clouds an otherwise clear mirror on a clear winter day.

My fixtures collect damage, my windows stay shut, for what would I do with all the dust they let in otherwise?

I want to exhale. maybe gasp a bit. Let the room breathe, let the haze lift. But the air hardly cares, lets itself in and carries a scent.

I remember a long gone summer when the sun lent me warmth and kept my polish cloths dry. The mirrors shone, the air still and my breath deep.

I shower and look for the sun. It’s distant and eclipsed and the wind howls Oh Won’t you let me in?

An epitaph of a flourishing rot

I think I heard a thud last night. Incandescent facades of the apartments that overlook my bedroom reveal what ensued in the dark as they woke me the morning after. A slender, tall, seemingly flourishing tree had fallen. I yawn and wonder if it is a tree I recognised. I

A yielding of the yield

It’s been a week of evenings with gusty winds. The trees sway! They come ever so close to my window, I want to let them in, shelter them from the wind. But they stay rooted afar. Held firm, as they bow, recline and shed leaves in decline. At times,

A familiar Sunday

It is Sunday. The sky is shut early. The trees seem dimly lit, but the canopy has decided to accentuate its green to match the dense pale blanket. I remember this day. It was a Saturday, at times a Wednesday, but often, a Sunday. I have watched it from the

A Transparent Crime!

I pace around the house, like i always do, when Iam unsure of what to indulge in. My bland windows catch my eye. I realise, it rained and the rain has stained my glass windows. I closely watch the frame. A rectangle with a white frame that holds the glass

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An epitaph of a flourishing rot

A yielding of the yield

A familiar Sunday

A Transparent Crime!