On a swing in the dark with a glass of wine

Seated on suspended ropes
I hang mid air
Swinging in all directions
Not touching
But too close to the ground

Drops drops everywhere
White glistening sparkling ones
They drench my dress
Oh the stench
Such a scent

The silent shadow holds the ropes
The swinging continues
It's a play of light
Not real
It looms anyway
Raising hope

Shadow's waiting
Seated away
There but not there yet

Swinging continues
Up up up in the air

Fragmentary

6th January '11

A shadow that haunts me
sometimes just bursts into fragments of light.
If I'm not too careful, I might just be up in flames.

It lingers when I'm having a happy dream
with visions, with doubts that I could be happier still.
It's almost forbidden,
yet it finds its place exactly where it's to be not.

It's just a reflection, the real's far far away.
Still? So much power? So much attraction?
And that too in an abstract?
A smoke like thing which appears from nowhere
and then also dissolves into nothingness?

It's an incomplete thing.
It could be anything.
It's a thing ahead of itself
which just couldn't finish.
It's a shadow of an unfinished thing
which I hope to capture in poetry, in the least.