Pluck pink petals
And spread the pollen
Like those lil one’s
Tears that were swallowed
He sat across closed eyes
And gazed into them
As she tried lying
While he wrung dirty clothes
There they stood
And broke his dreams
He left them then
In a corner
And played with hate
And those translucent drops
Didn’t hide his fear
She looked through
What he hid, tonight
Year after year
Drowning midst fire
Quite a harlot to life
He had a sudden sure
A strong man’s gait
Robbed in his days of innocent ways
She lent him some
While he taught her ways
To live and dream
With him tonight,
Yes after the wait
It seemed very right
Of sturdy fiber he was weaved
She melt this, his only creed
They played along
With fireflies
Trying to borrow a little
Of the stupid kid’s cry?
Of pain she talked
The one he bathed in
Never felt much crimson
Not yet within?
She plucked her hair
And let his grow
So that they’d have something to do?
A part of bread
He bit and spat
To taste it for her
To see if she would bear?
Like the bread,
Life came to them.
He still would run the race ahead
So she could never be lost to the dead.
The dead desires.
Those dead dreams?
Worse it was
Because they were killed
With such simple ease.
Like steel was bent
He let his body be spent
Carving melancholy
She shrouded the scars
They spent love more than
They tried to afford?
Toys she made of paper for him
And hid them lest they be ripped apart
1 comment:
typical mamta.........
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