Festering Wounds Of The Heart Poem by Sneha Murali

In fixed purpose she stared at the wound in the back of her hand, striped and blue with hints of red and black.
She thought back to the time where the sky and the earth,
fed on her desolateness and left her parched, dry and shy
with pink blushed bruises. 'Why me? ', she cringed
as Lamia's demon took over her, pausing but to let her cry out
the cancerous drops of poison vial she called tears.

Conscious she was, as the wastelands of her past
consumed and drowned her in her own filth.
Pitifully, she watched, as it ravenously tore apart the fresh carcass painted with the yellow shades of the jaundiced life she led. Blistered and festered with the disease of loving too much, too soon, she figured it was more a curse than a boon.
Even Da Vinci couldn't have plastered another Mona Lisa smile
on her face, swollen with the stings of the lies
escaped from the hornet's nest.

With mustered courage & mustard coloured eyes from sleepless solitude, she inched closer & examined her wounds deeper,
hoping to make a revelation that her non-existent life
still held some meaning. She felt like air, omnipresent, undervalued, polluted with the stains of the apostle's message.
She fought to untangle the laces from her hair,
& begged to wipe the crimson on her lips,
starved of hue and dusted with the glitter of a better tomorrow.

She had no choice but to bite her tongue and let it pass her by,
because a better tomorrow meant another today, and more yesterdays. She ran from her past, building up on her, smothering her completely with the tight embrace of a sarcophagus facing a coffered ceiling decorated with life's different anagrams, a silly game of scrabble.




Copyright © 2012 by Sneha Murali