The Ticking Song

Poetry

by Author

The sun has become a clock
It doesn’t drop anymore
Hangs there on the wall of the sky
Makes a ticking song, for the world to hum carelessly

The colors I left in the clouds
For the rain to bring them to the ground
Are now birds or stars
They are dense dry dots of hope
Making nests in the sky

Pause has settled in her balcony
Like stubborn honey settled
~ at the bottom of her many teacups
She stacks stones in the afternoons
When the ticking is the loudest
When the colors seem they are about to dissolve

For more poetry, get my debut poetry collection — The Saree Shop