Wind chime flirted with
White lace curtains
By kitchen window
That witnessed quietly
Fall of milk and doused flame.
I was not burnt
But bore the brunt,
Tasting imagined flavours of crumbs and cream
That spilled dramatically
When the doorbell rang
And I stumbled…
Split of white second, a momentary bliss –
Mind couldn’t retrieve, though….
“All good?”
“Of course, just a pudding.”
Wind chime flirted, once again.
Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
Every day she celebrated
Her life, as if her birthday;
Day, the birth of a new idea
Filtered through her grey matter
And spelled imagery.
Her symbolism not universal
And Yeats left his impressions when
She busied into curating Byzantium.
Some tweeting!
Her search….
Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
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