Poetry

This is a brilliant poem that i came across on the internet. It was written by a fellow scribber on "Sunday Scribblings" on the title "poetry". This was written by Gautami Tripathy.
--------------------------------------

I've been waiting for you,
days trample on each other like magazines
filled with deep buzzing where words merge into images
perceptions recide in the jumble of blue memory
yet nothing comes to assert your arrival
I have not learned to notice your presence

stressed of a long day I seek you-
you who I must give back some day
to someone I don't know who

New

I've decided to take part in this weekly writing thing called the Sunday Scribblings. (link's up there) Each week they post up a one word topic and lovers of words would write a story, a poem, or anything about it. I took part in it because it sounded interesting and hopefully i'll meet people who also love to write. So this week's topic is "New". I wrote a poem about it. An amateur, I might not be the best but i'll learn :)


3.30.
The sun sleeps in his little house in the West,
purring gently in slow rhythmic breaths.
And so does everything around him,
under the watchful gaze of the moon.

5.00.
The sun prepares to go to work.
He crawls out of bed, goes to the toilet and makes himself a warm cup of coffee.
In between sips, he thinks,
"Which route shall I use today"
"East, like always,"
Routines breeds familarity and he found assurance in it.
And so the sun puts on his coat,
and sets off on his journey.

Meanwhile.
Over the hills, nature shivers with anticipation
as they wait for his arrival.
The cool morning dew begins to form,
On blades of grass, furs of animals and windows of houses.
A condensation of the night's hustle and bustle.
The moon yawns, his eyelids droop down heavily.
"A few more minutes", he told himself.


0559
The sun walked four streets,
past six corners and two junctions
before he finally arrived at the east gate.


The gate.
With reddish brown metallic elements falling off its surface,
still stand erect, tall and magnificient.
It has watched the many suns walk past its doorway,
every dawn, at five, for as long as the planet's birth.

0600.
The sun pushes the gates open.
He takes his first step through,
Walks up the stairways to the sky,
takes the place of the moon,
and shines.

A faint orange glow,
then brighter, brighter
and finally a warm yellow hue.

Spreading across plains,
Through windows of houses,
past canopies of leaves.
Beckoning its occupants awake from their dreams of the night.

The sun shines.
A new day has arrived.