The old brick wall

What came to mind was a brick wall
In several squares of thought, a wind

Buffeting creepers flying on its holes
And moss of history faded into night.

Busy brown ants were not left behind.
It was words of bricks we might build

A visitor would come in brown stripes
A fickle screw-head against a blue sky

A creeper would strut its proud stuff
Of flowers of paper hanging in leaves.

It was not a mere brick wall but a wall
Of holes that hid my childhood years.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s