Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Divya

Sandman by Divya

The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.

He watched her from his bedroom window,
On the heap of sand,
Clouds of dust rose towards the sky,
As she kicked and clapped her hands.

He watched her get up to her feet,
And disappear out of sight,
She was back with two buckets, moments later,
Leaning heavily towards her right.

He watched her clamber up the heap,
Her movements hardly deft,
Water splashed out with every step,
She was now leaning towards the left.

He watched her work with the sand,
Taming the grains to stay in place,
She worked with the water, squeezing the sand tightly,
Her features scrunched up on her face.

He watched her thoughts take concrete shape,
And what stood were scarcely spheres,
For Sand is stubborn and what stood instead
Were three carefully sculpted tiers.

He watched her reach into bucket two,
And pull out paraphernalia odd,
Drumsticks, a kitchen cloth, toothpicks, an onion,
Families of peas in their pods.

He watched her creation come to life,
Drumsticks became arms, the onion- a nose,
The kitchen cloth- a makeshift vest,
Pea pods- a smile, the peas- eyes and toes.

He watched her watch in fascination,
Her snowman made of sand,
He watched her love her Sandman,
Till the sun dipped below the land.

He watched her disappear from his view,
He watched the Sandman crumble dry,
He watched the sky turn dim to black,
The next morning, he watched her cry.

Divya · Maps

Maps by Divya

I am a map.
The topography of my body,
A perfect mishap.
I am a map.

I am a map.
The fossils of my collar,
No longer to be seen.
Buried deep within the loose
Sands of my skin.
I am a map.

I am a map.
Breaking out
With indents and craters
In all the wrong places,
Failing to form some pattern.
I am a map.

I am a map.
Bromidic. Unoriginal.
A blueprint
Amongst blueprints
Amongst blueprints.
I am a map.

I am a map.
With outlines of
Two hemispheres.
But insides askew.
As though the only symmetry that exists
Is between my body
And its reflection.
I am a map.

I am a map.
Where most of my lines
Are dotted and doubtful.
Where there is no
Perfect.
Just incomplete.
I am a map.

I am a map.
Where the compass
Is my mind.
Giving me directions
While I remain entrenched.
I am trapped.

I am trapped.
The latitudes and longitudes
Choking me,
As I am forced to remain within
The Grid.
I am trapped.

I am a map.
Wishing to be anything
But flat.
I cannot be the world.
At least a globe?
But in this world,
Maps cannot be globes.
I am a map.
And, I am trapped.