Spidery fingers blot their sticky ink over the vermilion horizon,

A dragonfly alights daintily on a jewelled blade of grass.

The sun retreats demurely to its divine cavern of clouds,

Playing tag with our shadows, skipping through the weary trees.

A faded pink bicycle bowing its embarrassed head on a grassy hillside,

I can hear the harsh call of the collared kingfisher.

And steal a glimpse of her palms, blushed in fuchsia,

As she lights the poignant incense.

Solemn dinner served in blighted tin plates,

As the ancient grandfather clock strikes seven.

A stirring etude on the creaky piano,

My grandmother smiles.

The sunset sheds its dress of rays and pools at her youthful feet.

 © Zelda Reville






4 thoughts on “Dusk

    1. Oh my god Srurthi, you flatter me too much 😂 But honestly, I’m really happy that you like my poem! Part of it is inspired by my grandmother, and by this song by Françoise Hardy at the top of this post. Much of my childhood was spent with her, and she would always light incense sticks at 7 pm sharp, and the house would smell of incense smoke. It’s a memory that has always stuck with me, and I relive this memory every single time I go to the temple to pray.

      Liked by 1 person

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