This is Your Game
Describe the painting, you whisper in my ear, without
using the words for colour. This is your game. The way
you stood with me in Figueres looking at Dali, daring me
to describe the persistence of memory without alluding to
time. I tell you about the way blood thickens when breath is
stolen from it, the way an empty evening coagulates into a
lonely night, the way a bruise heals until a faraway memory
picks at its scab again. Your eyes become the charcoal residue
of a long forgotten passion. This is your game. The way you
can bring me a cloud from a burning sky to sing the song of
dormant thunder and then shrug. Tell me why you’re happy,
you whisper in my ear, tell me without asking about love.
"I am from Bangalore, India and post my work on thotpurge.wordpress.com. Some of my poems have recently appeared in online platforms such as The Lake, Quiet Letter, Visual Verse and Parentheses Journal."
The Ekphrastic Review
Join us on FB and Twitter!
Find a writer, artist, or poem, etc. by searching here: