IslANDs - Compressed Realities - Exploded Photoworks

Poem
By Ashok Vajpeyi
Who knocks at the door?
not dreams or desires
nor hope or nightmares?
Words wait anxiously:
who from a far brings to us
these gifts, this magnificence?
It is cold and one yearn for warmth.
It is dark and one yearns for light.
It is silent and one awaits some sound.
The ice melts. The window opens.
There are footsteps on the stairs.
The birds have returned to the trees.
The flowers, after a long night,
are about to day-bloom.
Images are imprints of a restless interior.
Words cannot catch the glow, the turmoil.
And yet there is a knock on the door.
51