For her, dying was not mandatory,
She could knot herself to life,
And strip the skeleton of death,
To unveil its inexhaustible secret.
The mirror could see itself in her;
Whirlpools of nostalgic infinities.
She is the lock that fits every key;
The answer to all the questions.
She is as intangible as unfound ideas;
Unending time uses her as a rustle.
She is the ingenuity of impossibility;
Can turn the chaste into fornicators.
But she died thirsty upon a mirage;
The keys rusted, mirrors were broken.
She was lost to inviolable distances,
And took all life along with her.
Her posthumous days were imperfect,
Like a street without the other side,
And on the unsettled anxious dawn
Was the hint of an indeterminate her..
This one is good! Thats poetry.
ReplyDeleteThis was deep! One should study it carefully word per word!
ReplyDeleteI would say +1
ReplyDeleteSaras.. Thank you.. I am glad you finally saw some hint of poetry in my writing! :)
ReplyDeleteMLM.. I always suggest my readers to take each word I write..pretty much seriously..! And this piece..is very close to my heart! :) Makes it more Special!
Sireesha.. Thank you. Finally your comments..! I feel good. thank you.