! Unexpected ! Poem by Rema Prasanaa

The nails he placed tore my outer drapes;
rusted, those sharp edges perished
never touched my heart
nor to my pure soul;
he had in his hand aplenty
curses from a timid north wind
and waves from one dead sea
and those curses traveled back
on wings towards its source
where he stood on a mountain top
to breath but he turned breathless
for the first time in his life
he felt he lost as he could not
hold back his own destiny...




November 23,2009