Flute

It came to be a Monday
its arms sooted with the dread of precipices
a harbor of nook and corners bolted against the mouth of a meager
life silent as the passage of unfamiliar faces silent as camphor-love
dull as the reluctant storm full of curtains and the bleeding nightness of crows
and the silence of dead flutes streaming through it
through its heart formed a shadow a gathering of cheerless
flightless dreams between memory and its commitment
which many a Mondays hence came to be me.

Reviews

[Kathy Van Kurin]

Abhra,
"Flute" is stunning! It is dark without being ugly and simply reveals a heart which is just in a place of stagnancy. Darkness is simply the other side of glorious light. To me this shows the depth of despondency in direct contrast to the possibility of what good is coming. You speak of arms which give strength but here are in dread of realizing the heights- precipices. Monday, first day of the week, a new beginning. harbor would usually be a place of safety. life being silent and camphor love? a love not alive. This is great! "bleeding nightmare of crows." Of course your phrase,"silence of dead flutes streaming through it: speaks of loss or weeping flowing where hope and joy should have free reign. A heart of flightless dreams and cheerless. I have read this through three times and even backwards. Very cool poem!!! Full points. Blessings to you and I loved reading a new poet and a first work as well.............................kathy

[LSS]

The poetry is good, but I couldn't get a handle on its direction. Keep up the good work.
LSS