The stitched Days

     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 ----