Quote:
‘Idle hands are the devil’s work…’
Sweat pours from the headscarf of a young mother as she leans wearily
and oppressed, watching cobwebs play in one corner with once envied
pieces of fine cloth that lays furled and soiled, nestling against an upswept
broom, amidst the gloom and heavy brocade of dusted light that filters
onto neglect, the dimness of a bygone slumber of gargantuan,
monumental machinery sleeping soundly nearby.
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~shakes her head in amazement~ Your words create pictures so effortlessly.
Quote:
Past roars of a forgotten era, pale into the gloom, croaking through the rust
and corroded parts, we cannot mend or will not. Disgruntled grinding can be heard
in the distance of a tradition of half starved families, cloistered at one
evening meal while the other half sleep, bellies empty, but meekly feeding upon
the sounds she makes as she clatters in the kitchen; they are swept up by the
winds that dare disturb the rest of abandonment.
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The emotions so...heavy laden in this piece. Bare and protruding, reaching out the grab the reader and envelope them.
Quote:
Chaotic doom surrounds our chimneys as funneled sunshine, heralding
a new age, yawns and shines on our blackened faces. Is this our messiah
in true light? Will we be fed tonight and for many years to come? Or will time
and errors make our plight an antiseptic bolt hole, which will make us long for
the trundling of cobwebbed machinery and ghosted voices that sing with us
in our tawdry clothes and grubby knees as they gaze onto and graze the cobbled
streets? I treasure the blood that seeps onto my handkerchief as the dying
sun wanders from my face and back to the corner of forgotten factories,
asleep again and long until they are awakened and brought back to life
in another dream.
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Most definitely a well titled piece, as well as perfectly expressed. Only a couple of spelling errors.
Yet another well done, Ani.