And he slowly trapped them,
Into glass bottles,
Like flies for his amusement,
Only this time, he wanted away from his everyday battles.

He felt better,
He cried no longer
And in His heart , he felt a kind of solace.

He went on with his job,
Slowly turning the Winds of a Clock,
That was old and Damp,
but working still.

He felt his insides,
Solidifying, slowly
And before he could know anything
he turned to stone,
He was now, nowhere near his own,
He was now, made of stone.

And the Smile that he usually wore,
Braced upon his face no more.
-Anirudh Shankaran.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s