Twisted stems and swirling leaves
Bend to fake devotion,
Replicas of shadow beings
Unite in void awareness,
Sunbeams cast a smile between
And phlegm holds weeds of fortune,
But oiled hands sculpt slivered stones
While debris dance in wasteland,
To vanished songs renounced in need
For decayed gems of softness.
When dusk regains its silent voice
And echoes illuminate the darkness,
Spangled germs will fuse the fallen
And bleed from burgeoning arrows.
© Tanisha Bhana – Feb 2012
(For the work, Soil (3) , from the portfolio, Transience)
A natural and man-made landscape in transience - Sometimes creation and destruction happen together and can perhaps be misinterpreted for each other - a natural paradox in the world we live.