About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write. Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground. Kiya's gift. I love it!
Old Photos
When time weighs heavy on my eyelids
and thoughts shatter against words
like empty glasses,
I thirst for the song
of the doorbell,
off key.

Famished for friends,
I gape into faded albums
with a whiff of the old world,
searching for a temple
among the ruins.

With tears to salt the memories within,
I race across the pages,
in a dash stretched through decades,
watching the faces inside picture windows.

Mind orbits around ancient loves
to wonder if I could ever see
these people again
and plead for small attentions,
even in dreams,
in the darkness,
for when the circuit is shorted,
and fuses blow all around,
photographs are candles
to light up the night.
















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