Soft Palms Bleed Poem by Asavri Dhillon

The soft palms with hundred brown scars
Carried the dried red lotus, ready to fall
After being crushed in her hands.
Every tear that fell from the reservoir of soul
Glided off the skin, craving to adhere to it
But as nothing stays forever, it had to fall.
There was no stain of the tear, but just the touch
That remained.
The light breeze that caressed her tresses
And made her beautiful soft dress dance in pain,
Lead her to the one and only narrow trunk of the Tree
The Tree of love and death.
She carried that lotus like a candle flame
Ready to put her life at stake
Because her soul wasn't hers anymore.
Off she went the cliff, onto the old decaying trunk
Up above the lively world, a hundred kilometers high
She craved for the touch of her beloved
A beloved who once held her hand in the woods
And cried, for he said their relation should last forever
And at the end-
He kissed her soul and left her
To gather all the pieces of the promises he made
To crave and scream for his presence.
To cry in vain and finally give up her last breath
At the name of her beloved.