The Stills of Life

A teaspoon of philosophy melds with a tablespoon of reality in my mind’s eye,
That the tendrils of time, sitting upon my tongue, daub insistently on my smile

Ink stains blue my finger tips
Calloused by their genteel labors
Upon the grays of black-and-whites
As the minutes turn into hours

Them faceless thus dance, endlessly
Their silent music greeting all ears
While the sightless, deafeningly,
Dip the brush in a sea of tears

Garbled hues then mottle my world
That stands still to the vagaries of time
Moments, both terrible and terrific,
Burn brightly and gently die.

– Akanksha Gupta

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