Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Naked on the Inside

It’s on nights like this
that the wall of smiles crumbles,
dimple by sparkling squint,
with a only a faint sigh to be heard
as it crashes.
How is it that things so labored
falter so quietly?

As the roads spread ahead of us,
vast and dim,
lit half-heartedly and glistening
with the sheen of a promised storm...
The night, worn out of shopping
late at resoundingly vacant stores,
hung lifeless and limp,
an expanse of exhaustion,
over our worn out being.

Nothing was left for us--
not the effort of pretense,
not the thrill of acquisition,
not even the recurrent name of a friend...
There we were, naked on the inside,
bereft of even the comfort of joy.
We had only for company,
on that unforgiving night,
the loneliness of each other.

(Originally posted on June 10, 2007)

4 comments:

katy said...

There we were, naked on the inside,
bereft of even the effort of joy.


what poetry you have in you, dear. dressed in it, inside and out.

arch.memory said...

(((katy)))
Thank you.

Arch said...

On some nights,
we tell ourselves
the loneliness of each other
is enough.

Misery, after all, loves company
and happiness is relative,
or something, oh something,
like that.

Minds and bellies filled
by that proud
Mother
of platitudes,

we blindly seek,
our midnight blanket
rousing
our naked need.


Hey Ashraf, recently chanced upon your blog. Your poetry is refreshing. More power to you and your words.

Delirious said...

How is it that things so labored
falter so quietly?,


How so very true...