Sunday, October 23, 2011


my friend

why are you sitting at the fence
patience, at an end ?

she was your virtue, personified
her quintessence of beauty

hope creaked at the joints that night
once learnt, never forgotten her duty

his quintessence of terror
wounded vanity

feeling inferior
driven to the point of insanity

signs of bitterness in his expression
she feels lost in her own, unable to read his mind

be lost in self-reflection
got lost to the utmost, unable to find

to my own regrets

I am at her wit’s end
slander the usual suspect

she is, the last, vulnerable
get hold of. . . and bear in. . .

don’t weigh upon her. . .
a beautiful mind, grieving

when the sky is overcast, lying low and lower
by a stroke of fate you embraced grave doubts

lavish care and attention on your anger
pointing finger, blaming society for an emotional drought

demanding change vigorously  from the people next door
you talk big, admit you gaped in astonishment

you fell passionately in love with what you’re living for
you flare up, ‘this nightmare should come to an end’

‘it must  have been in nineteen-nighty one’ , all he said
they call you

‘sample with no commercial value’

Pen 'N' Paper
Copyright © 2011

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