Friday, December 4, 2015

a flower crushed..


Under the amaltas tree
The yellow blossoms
Adorned a little bride
In an innocent childhood game
of marrying the boy next door.
She clasped his pudgy fingers
amidst marigold confetti,
simulated the sacred satapadi
around the flaming pile
of deep gulmohar fire.
Now lying by his side,
Watching the sky turn red
And lilac and indigo,
She weaved her dreams
In floral patterns
of cherished hopes and
joyous future.
Night now and reluctantly
giving up her playmate’s company
she walked back home
chasing the glow worms
when those rapine hands
snatched away her childhood
crushed the petals
pilfered her dreams
outraged her modesty
violated the flower
of her being...

- Neha Bansal












6 comments:

  1. Beautiful...the imagery of flowers is simply enchanting. The rude shock at the end..makes one feel violated. Keep writing.

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    1. Thank you for reading and your feedback. Much appreciated.

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  2. Thank u, so much sir. Your words are really encouraging.

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  3. Very touching. I am able to spot a pattern to the poems. A twist in the second half. Being predictable in style is slightly problematic

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    Replies
    1. yes you are right... i guess i'll have to work on them...thx for ur comments...

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