“The Light Blue Rope” by Kumar Harsh

The light blue rope
has seen all those years.
The laughter,
the tears.
It stood there
hanging taut on the nails,
remembering the times
as the day slowly trails.
The clothes of generations,
dried on it by the sun,
memories at every turn.
Sometimes it turns inwards
slaughter, butchering
straining the rusted nails.
The light blue rope,
every finger that touched
and vanished,
still fresh, soaked in water.
The birds that perched
even they were whispering.
The light blue rope
eavesdropping
on chirpings, humans.
The air,
stagnating from fear.
The breeze,
somewhere a flutter,
maybe a figment.
The light blue rope
sometimes turns green of the nails
for their eyes are blinded,
ears strapped
by the walls.

For more poems by Kumar, buy FIVE Vol. 1 No. 7.