The Wise Owl Poet of the Month: Abin Chakraborty
The fabric inside is torn.
Needle and thread, cement and bricks
All things fail to mend all those gaps
Left by the edges of past.
In time they'll fill with water or soil
And host some insects and expanding moss
With flowers and cacti and patches of grass
Where butterflies whisper and fly.
So I nurse these holes
and redraw my shapes
And discarding dreams of untainted wholes
Curate with fragments new shores.
Hoping for a Time
A query, a smile, some unspoken words
The trembling of lips in a moment misplaced
Such are the remnants that cling.
They glisten as shards
From a mirror now smashed
Which no little whole would form.
Yet with them new blankets I weave
That shield against winters to come.
At times they are tents, with canopy of stars
That magic and thrill will conjure.
Or they are castles that baffle and thwart
All those cannons of chance and age
And glow with light through the dark.
So I cherish and guard these remnants with care
And hope for a time of candor and warmth
When in the alchemy of life's sudden turns
All that is broken will mend.