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Source: http://photohab.com/travel/murad-osmann.html via nataliaphillips on The Matboard

I hold my breath sucking in

all the air till my ribs are taut

with mothball images and sharp pieces of thought –

The images stick out like rude shouts

of children we passed on the road:

‘Why didn’t you give us proteins so we could

grow legs and come with you?’

Now it’s too late, to get those fire images

home to kids and the sounds of love,

smell of morning feasting on the lawn…

 

When a day absently looks away and when

the sun drops a few shiny coins in a

hidden corner of the garden,

buried thoughts shake off the dried mud

and stand tall. They sneak up to me and even if

I feign a busy work-day, they climb into my head

and sit there waiting, for 6 pm, 7 pm, 10 pm… .

They sit there with large vacant eyes

that don’t ask or complain

or demand or tell.

I look away, determined to win this time.

 

… and that is how it goes with my thoughts…

 

What if all the world’s thoughts never die?

What if they live on, long after their thinkers

have driven away from them …

abandoned thoughts with no place to go?

Those eyes mute with questions

patiently waiting for you

to look at them, kiss them.

 

… all the world’s thoughts…

 

they live in a hole in the garden

the sun can’t reach on most days.

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