Frosted window

I can’t enjoy sea in the frosted window.
I am a three- B.H.K person who cannot
Play with the most expensive port sea.

The sea is beyond old man’s November
When he shall prove he still lives here
Among dying rocks slowly murdered.

I cannot hear sea moaning mid nights
But I can still hear a murder of rocks
And man holes dug for fresh deaths.

I can hear midnight stick tap passing.
My sea will be accomplished by leaps
And no bounds, a poet’s imagination.


Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s