Born.
A box with a lock.
A lock without a
Key.
Rooted,
with difficulty,
A wild cotton
Seed.
Watered
with feelings,
Not one's
Own.
Bearing
fruits fake,
which turn from gold to
Stone
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Monotony broken.
My patience is tested.
The machinations of your mind
play an ugly quartet on my nerves.
My Organs begin to orchestrate a violent symphony
you dare not hear - the gallop of the army
which tears out its path through
my wretched lips
and gores
your
very
soul.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
Cruel, heartless mountains,
have turned their backs,
washing their hands off me.
And giving in to gravity
...I am a waterfall.
Your betrayal;
And my twisted heart
is carving giant grey rocks,
etching your name
on the ochre ribs of sand,
in a language known
not even to myself.
You let my anguish carry me.
And I could not
though I tried
remember why I wanted
to hold on to the slippery banks.
More tears from the sky.
I carried sticks and stones,
brown leaves, fallen long before yesterday.
And swallowing ashes of the dead
My heart, I filled with hate.
Suffocating. Silently choking,
the woman who was mother yesterday
is a child today.
Floods. More thirst, more pain.
And then,
Abused and tired and *****
I could take no more.
Now a **********
***** with your own hatred.
Not mercy, you just give me names.
Wrinkles at the meander
I'll met him at last,
He,who was born of the same soil far,far away.
Merging and kissing
softly at the confluence,
Then finally holding hands.
We'll promise never to part again.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
White,naked,realizations.
A moment of breaking dawn.
Today
Two bright slits
of blinding light
pry open
these tired kohl-lined eyes
smudged black.
Javelin rays
trespass fences of barbed wire,
her mascara-ed lashes,
playing fortress to
teary lakes
of dreams and lullabies.
Though yesterday
She lay
so breakable in his marble arms.
her porcelain breast,
her delicate heart,
so fragile.
His breath on her neck, cold,
colder than December ice.
Alcoholic kisses
slow anesthesia in his eyes.
A cascade
of ebony curls
darker than the midnight sky
holds a constellation
of beauty spots.
But she
holds her universe,
his face
between her tiny palms.
A pair of snow white wrists.
His fingers,
long shards of glass.
A single teardrop on her cheek,
pale moon,
the consequence of a million scars.
One afternoon after
Two thousand years of unending strife
Three stubborn blades
of a forbidding ceiling fan
Orthodox curtains,
and the guarding yellow walls
were joined
by a mirror
too shy
to watch,
her indiscretion,
his blatant lie.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 8:30 AM UTC