Sunday, 16 March 2014

Wrinkled Anger

Cleansing the said
removing its effect,
I fall on your chest
leaving behind resentment
fall for your spirit.

Listen to unsaid
blank verses of your beats,
They sing a choir
of our love.

A touch of rock
sculpted into gem
A green leaf turned pale
fallen and dead.

We are flowers dried
yet rejoice
the fading skins
as pious as
Mother Mary's wings.

PS: The poem featured in Purple Hues, an international anthology published by Sanmati publishers, Delhi.