Between Walls: A Story Poem by Rites Ghosh

Some good cracks
tired walls, now you're
flogged
black and blue-
time's whipstrokes.

weeds are up, out
to look-

standing tall
holding up this roof,
patience and memory.

walls, walls-
my voice hums in between
and a void
and a swirl felt back:

is there any one standing down?
th' diseased time
with shadows tall merge-

a violent show's at rest.

that he who passes by me
strums lonely feet-

or, murmur of
falling leaves may he be
chased by timewind-

once known
in ceremonies of life-

th' flier of purple kind,
his feather of mind
floats like gleaming stars-
welkin of blue imagination-

authority whistled
here-

command he harvested
from silky youth of sun-

youthfulness, he'd just
love to scatter
like peas-

what more?

what more th' cooked up
story of time
leaves-

this bony half,
bearded face of skinny time
stands aloof
or escapes
like a heavy borrower-

his afternoon
in th' shackles of fears
fade and fade
until a rim of
night and oblivion.