The Stitched Days
The liquid
days flow into one another
Skipping
over the afternoons and evenings
Briefly
meeting the night
Stitching
one day to another by Running stitch.
The stitches
run into two days, three and then more.
Making a day
long sampler.
Sometimes
the evenings wave out
Reminding of
their existence
Afternoons
call for siestas
But the
Days, full of arrogant speed
Don’t stop.
They want to
measure the roads
Lift the
weights of ever so heavy papers
Touch the
coldness of coins
Look for
joys in meeting strangers,
Scoot into
the walls decorated with Clocks
And hang by
the frail threads of existence.
Afternoons
want to hold lunches
Spread over
beds and newspapers,
Over spilled
glasses of water and chatter
A lot of
chatter and laughter.
Evenings beckon
with cups of sweet tea
Mothers
stroking foreheads and listening
To the tales
of arrogance of the Day.
The potted
Palms wait in the balconies
To be
watered in the evenings
TV shows to
be watched together,
Delicious whiffs
of the dinner from the kitchen
The shrill
cry of the pressure cooker.
But the Day
Doesn’t stop
for the evenings and afternoons.
It speeds
past the siestas and potted plants.
Shuts its
liquid ears to the shrillness of the cooker
It doesn’t
care for the aromas from the kitchen.
The liquid
day holds a concrete heart
Rock solid,
unyielding AND RIGID.
It has not
tasted the sweet tea
It doesn’t know
the Chatter and laughter
And lunches
spread over newspapers.
The Liquid Day
just runs into another day
Stitched
together by Running Stitch ----
