Damaged

Hey all, 

It's raining here for third or fourth day or centuries. This made me sit down and write blog, while sipping my masala chai (as friends from West say Chai Latte). It works wonders if you've cold.

I had talked about my writing slump in one of the previous posts. There are numerous incomplete draft. Today I've tried to come out of this. 

Here's a raw piece of poetry, which I'd scribbled in the early hours of morning. I hope you'll like it.

The humidity in the air

shirts cling to bodies, 

moving for their dears

from dark potholes to bright lobbies.

How the color of skin changes

with path, place, time

When shadows come out of the wall,

leap over to hymn, 

to the temple of lost dreams.

Clouds are gathering

moving in circular motion, 

rain will fall over the ashes, 

will lead to the corrosion. 

But how much one

can damage the

already damaged iron.

None of the ointment

are going to work

Neither can carry the disappointment

nor can pull off the smirk.