Poem: Ode to A Pink Glove

"Ode to A Pink Glove"

The world seemed boring and empty to me

until I found a pink glove 

stuck on a tree.

I was puzzled, then angry,

'Cause it was so dumb,

a spot on a tree that sticks out like a thumb.

I wanted to walk, but my brain had no luck,

It's like its pink finger was making a "fuck".

Though not just to me, but a "fuck" to the world,

To Life, the Universe, its finger unfurled,

"I do not belong, but I sit on this tree,

I know not for long, but now, I feel free."

I stared at the glove, it flopped in the wind,

Industrial junk sat atop like a king,

Or a castle that's built on a mountain so tall,

The pink hand of God crowning over us all.

But the hand is long gone.

What remains is the glove.

It's staining and rotting and covered in bugs.

I hope that the glove, in it's death, found it's truth

Maybe, one day, I pray I will too. 

But in that moment, I thought to keep walking.

The fact that I stood there that long is just shocking.

I looked back to see it, deep pink in its hue,

The glove that was stuck on a tree bid adieu.

- a random image-inspired poem by Om Bhatt