Hairbrush Poem

Where is the hairbrush
where are the keys
where is my heart
my soul
my yearning for a soul
Where is the hairbrush
keeper of lost hairs
clinging to the bristles
with my dna
the proof that I was here
now
in this moment
with only you to read me
meandering on about my hairbrush
meandering on about life
as an observer
an imperfect camera.
The tree falls in the forest
without a sound
The hairbrush does not exist now
It will exist for a moment
when I find it.
It is in the other room
which doesn’t exist now
but will spring to life
when I enter
looking for the
hairbrush.

………Originally published at Artvilla


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