Copies

Poetry is hard to come by
For want of uninterrupted views
From inside my brain.
Words jingle but not the views.
At the window I see a tiny strip
Of the winter sky
And some passing shadows
Woman carries headload
Of red shiny bricks .
Not just one but three.
Not the bricks but the women
In white polyester sarees
A colourful copy I am in a hurry
To classify and file “save as”
I am in too much of a hurry
To make a play about it
With tall earthly creatures
As dramatis personae
It sounds a bit foolish
To enlarge mere copies
For they only depixellate
The sky is lost irretrievably
And the trees lose greenness.
All the while I need their largeness
Their solidity and their greenness.
But the copies !