Livelong

Livelong

these are days enveloped in grey
packed in cartons of weary sighs
pickled in the brine of yesterday's rainy night

the dark damp brings with it the
faraway sounds of unknown breathings:
a child's kite that has snapped
its lifeline and floats off softly

these are days blinkered in tears
when laughter is cocooned and splintered
into disparate pieces of lying nerves

the dawn's mellow greetings have
soured and all the sparrows have gone
leaving their nests behind like
prisoners set free after many
thunderclapped monsoons

these are days saddled on aged horses
whose hooves furrow the wet earth and
drag gunnysacks of dying faces for miles

the wind no longer nuzzles the curtains
squirrels tire of the jackfruit and
sunshine melts into calipered hoods:
a sinewy hangman at crack of dawn

these are days huddled in mute throbbings
smothered in snakeskins of venom
befuddled in the dishwater of soporific vision