March 25, 2014


Tube lights in my office burn like the sun
And the air-conditioner hum is a lullaby in the day
My already drowsy eyes sprout imaginary swords
And fight my eyelids to stay open
A bloodbath that masquerades as tears
As a gasp escapes like a yawn
My thoughts rush and settle on a distant mug
And smell its rim dried brown with coffee
Hungrier now, it floats to my bedside 
Sniffs at stationery and longs for the pen
Curls up, blanket over the head and snoozes
I continue typing about smartphones and speakers

March 10, 2014

Dry Day

It is a sullen noon
something in the air 
refuses to be trapped
it erupts in furious writing
and frowns 
and a furrowed forehead

I am adding a crow's feet 
every year
time is a concept they say
but I never lose count this way

I have dreamed
and let them soar
But in this dreamodrome
there are more accidents 
than successful take offs
and many, mid way
just flop down with engine failure
or lack of fuel
or some kind of passenger protest

I cannot find my bellows
to flare up these fires
today some restlessness
is snuffing everything 
I once called my spirit
© Dryad's Peak
Maira Gall