About July.A Poem by abhas“Hard to live in a world That measures time by clocks”, she said.
The angst of Sub Saharan crisis of food, A doll on the streets of Moldova, Trampled on and over again, Akin to im juli … played in Spain,
Whims swim in the Beagle Channel, Sobriety is by far vestigial, Seven days and a night for the soul That craves for a Pitcairn’s sunrise,
“The wealth of attention seekers, And a share of their dreams, I used to know, when I used to know” She knew… it seems,
Magma? No, nuts and bolts, Vinson Massif’s drying in cold, The sun beams flakes of gold, “In July!” she told.
Her perfume, an undersea river, Insinuates and rearranges memories Of limerence, As far as the senses can perceive,
Pesos and Caribbean hats, Worn and outdated in Oceania And other ephemeral epiphanies,
The three sisters keep weaving, Tying us together, Their fingers in agony, Hers adorned.
In her last, her drying voice speaks: “Middle of the year, I thought, With rain hammering down and Glimpses of the sun, July is something I don’t prefer, For I never grew out of it…”
© 2014 abhasAuthor's Note
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Added on July 30, 2014Last Updated on July 30, 2014 |