Arti Chopra

(16 Nov 1953 / Jammu)

CRUMPLED IN DESPAIR


Torn and tattered
crumpled into a ball
thrown into a corner,
just like the few remnants
of my pride,
curled up
foetus like
alone
hands over ears
trying to shut out
the deafening sounds of
fully audible fears,
trying to ease myself
into a friendly darkness,
but it eludes me,
despair has shattered the windowpanes
of my fragile house of dreams,
splashed blood upon its pristine white walls,
mutilated the flowers lining
the yellow bright pathway,
leading up to the welcoming
door,
dreams lie bleeding
life flowing out like a dying river
my eyes
still shut,
but my tears escape the prison
of a fondly dreamt future,
and still
I breathe
and continue
to live, wondering why
death
does not visit my once charming
little house

Submitted: Thursday, September 05, 2013
Edited: Thursday, September 05, 2013

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