Sunday, November 05, 2006


The night was silent,
Except for us, who drawn by the light,
Had hissed sotto voce,
Into each other’s ears.

Even the stones have stories,
And the dark alley with stony walls,
Had a silent story to tell,
One that rings a bell.
A story made of awkward pauses,
One pause beside another,
With their arms around each other,
And then a train of thought,
Interjected by a pause,
Then another pause, then another.

A long pause, suitably long,
A lifetime when you close the eyes,
Sepia memories in soft sighs,
A worn out cloth tinged with emptiness,
Loose threads like fingernails,
Held together by human stains.
A long pause, in the corridor.
Hollow voices look around,
One room after another.
Wake up, they are here.
Sprawled sleeper in a somber bed,
Woken up, his eyes red,
Gropes around the forgotten walls.
Don’t touch the wall,
There are pictures on them all.

Time turns around a winding staircase,
As you race upstairs,
Every step disintegrates.

Every step disintegrates.


Anonymous said...


Very nice.

And its quite obvious shows that you've read a lot of Eliot and got him absorbed into yur system...

And,I like the pic...
Reminds me of the old dungeon that I visted when I was at Mysore.

mojindro said...

hey wrijju,
its such a wonderful peice...
and that pic is also good...

Wriju said...

Thanks Vasu :-)
But I wish it were not that obvious. I definitely haven't tried to copy him. Every poem I write I start disliking after a while. Then I look for inspiration. Eliot is an amazing poet, and reading him I can't help internalizing his writing. But I'd rather write like myself. Still searching for my own words.

Thank you!

Anonymous said...

I think when you read a lot, you internalise it and as a result find your own voice.
I definitely think you have your voice that s Wrijustic...

How do we know said...

Wriju: I havent read Eliot, but this poem in itself, is
fantastic, in the literal sense of the word!

Apart from that, the last line brings even more magic to the picture one creates in one's mind.

Somehow, your poems make it easy to visualise them, and they weavea story of their own while we watch with your words.

Anonymous said...

Very lovely. ^_^

Anonymous said...

Hii dropped by your blog and found something hooking instantly. This piece can claim all that a modern genre of poetry is attributed with. As said by others, it has definitely got similarity with Eliot's imagism and metaphorical symbolism. intellectually the content is very high. I don't want to repeat what otehrs have said, but to me it sounded your vignette of imagination. So the flashback is scurried by the present....mind boggling!!!

Deepa said...

this one is wow..just wow...wriju ray u are becoming better day by day..(read it as a poem):-)

sophie said...

so beautiful:)

Wriju said...

Really :-) Read some Kafka and now I am feeling like an insect. I think too much internalizing can be a bit dangerous.

You are too kind. I have to double check are you really talking about me ;-) Now I really feel like writing more!


Thanks for dropping by and for your words. I checked your blogs and I think they are quite exceptional, especially your photo blogs.

But Miss Deepa is always the best!Thank you so much :-)


Cinderella said...

"......Sepia memories in soft sighs,........every step disintegrates."

Absolutely loved these lines.

What a lovely way of conjuring up the melancholy with tenderness !!!!

Cant get enough of the phrase 'sepia memories'...what made you think that up???

Absolutely delightful !!!

Cinderella said...

Whoa !!

Looks like you and I were on my blog at the same time, I was putting up a new post and you were reading the old one, and telling me that i hadnt posted for a while !!

Neway,nice of you to drop by.
A nice blog you've got for yourself. Gonna come back for more.

Trailady said...

This is lovely poetry and imagery as always, but one mystery for me- what is whispering "sode verce" mean??