Hiraeth Series #36 from Kushal Poddar

Hiraeth Series Poem #36

36

On Mondays the collector wakes up
one-day-only-paranoic to
all he has gathered so far -
each matchbox, brass button, 
fountain pen, old map and jazz vinyl.

He grabs his eyes and stare outside.
Downstairs I live in rent -
someone who collects open spaces
fitting for the hearts missing.
I would have stooped to pick those up,
but the process of it feels like
pulling out the magnets from an iron door 
The little plops make me shiver - those
noises of hiraeth. 

I hear the bloodshed in the collector's screams - 
"Nevermore nevermore." 
I should shout that he is not the only one.
Look through my open spaces.
Everything is on fire like some ants
underneath a child's magnifier.
 

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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