I believe there are vast, open spaces
where waning rays gather to sit
in bright chairs. Under lofty backrests,
they are naked, stripped of tautness,
day’s jargon falling on upholstered ears.
Fingers laze along the polished
arms, sometimes in definite shapes
as the mugs they have been holding
leave on the table. Through the coffee
vapour they look fixedly at the sliver,
an ant-line being reflected
by snow, rear-view mirrors all the way
up to Khardung La. It floats on prayer
flags when gentle rocking occurs
as the sky’s charge is handed over
to the stars, like the rays have nothing
but the soft grass to splash into
when they tip over
from clumsy slouching.
Sudhanshu Chopra hails from India. He draws inspiration to write from observation, memories, subconscious, books he reads, movies he watches, and music he listens to. Sometimes a phrase or simply a word is enough. Some of his poetry has been published in In Between Hangovers and Anti Heroin Chic. Some more of his poems can be found at his blog, The Bard.