orange-tiled huts,
an embankment with an ice-cold
touch,
like the swish of air
beneath the door,
taking hold
over the ankles,
in the grip
of
a tightening resolve —
the scene of this stillness
is unsuitable
for my silver-
spooned, steel-proofed
bathroom,
adrift with
the violence of
hair-falls, slippery soaps,
and the languid heat of
a late summer’s threatening tone
in a lonely play.
.
© Anmol Arora 2018
Image source (Bathroom Windowsill by Una Sealy)
Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads
***
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