![]() PAPA IN O.T.A Poem by Anurag Sharma![]() PAPA IN O.T.![]()
There is a there
where you are; here is a here when let me go then I and I... Unlashed slits unlatched grow hands, finger-tips to sense your presence propinquitious. Little bowris* on sides both grow legs stepping down to the doormat some footsteps shuffle and ripple watery silence of the corridors. The back of my palms perforated with needled eyes with doctor’s tape apertured pain looks through and beyond. A bottle of glucose oozes in liquid hope to metamorphose a here’s when to a there’s then. Then, green aprons flutter, come to collect a withered leaf to graft in the purgatory (they call it OT). Where are you, my acorn? A condensed drop of flight is flushed into at the bottom of my spine " the mint-mermaid singing on the shores of the unknown and dancing all wheres and whens away... * A word from local dialect, meaning ‘little ponds’. © 2023 Anurag Sharma |
StatsAuthor![]() Anurag SharmaAjmer, Rajasthan, IndiaAboutAnuraag Sharma is a bilingual poet and creative writer from Ajmer, India. A retired Professor of English, he has to his credit nearly 28 books, including collections of poems, short stories, critical .. more..Writing
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