Monday, October 15, 2007

To stab a clock

How has this come to pass?
Who has tipped the hourglass
With such cruelty in my disfavour
If only i could trace the line
And stop the theiving hands of time
To have a moment suspended

Dangling moment, frozen fresh
A snapshot of such happiness
Laced with a longing ache
So beautiful in its single frame
Raw, uncaptured, untamed
I'd ride the roaring tiger forever

A token from a pile of chips
Snatched away from a lover's lips
As our limbs cash in
We collide with reckless force
An act to unabashedly coarse
That it sands itself into refinement

Smooth like you, smooth like me
Face of marble, face of mud
Cool, salty, silty, smooth
But then the seconds kill the firsts
The lasts, the bests and the worsts
Till the moment can hang no longer


Blogger longblackveil said...

Yes, damn them, the seconds always always kill the firsts. Damn them.

12:06 AM  
Blogger sunith said...

Nice flow of words. Interesting metaphors.

9:03 AM  

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