This Too Shall Pass

 

From the tall tumbler glass of modernity,

Mellowed metaphors spill over

The rough cobbled streets.

 

Devil’s ivy hangs from balconies,

Hiding the cracks in whitewashed walls

Of mushy imageries.

 

In the thimble space inside,

With languid murmuring in the dim light,

You wheeze your insta poetry.  

 

The meter dies with your gasping,

The rhythm hobbles along the alleys

Between the tenement houses of poesy.

 

The years are slow to pass, heavy-footed.

They limp languidly, chewing the wind, 

Their teeth rattling.

 

In the gray luster of the slow sun,

The cadence lies dead on the windowsill,

The snappy prose crackles somewhere in the dark.

 

You walk out into the garden,

Try to fix sadness by being miserably happy.

You dice about the soil

 

With little trowels of fluffy free verse,

Sow the seeds of similes,

And wear your yellow sunhat backwards.

 

Downy and sugary, bright and happy,

Your poems dance along the idyllic landscapes

Of Thomas Kinkade’s paintings.

 

Closing my eyes, succumbing myself to darkness,

Like a transcendental mantra, I recall the old

Persian adage with a heady, intellectual air, and repeat—

 

“This too shall pass.”

 

 

Bibek Adhikari





Poetry by Bibek
Read 306 times
Written on 2018-12-14 at 13:32

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Rich with imagery...and cynicism.
2018-12-14