Two Poems: The Pseudo Shoes

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The past was deep/ The fairy lights were black and white/ As if everything was lost in a film scene from the prime time
The past was deep/ The fairy lights were black and white/ As if everything was lost in a film scene from the prime time

The past was deep.

The fairy lights were black and white.

As if everything was lost in a film scene from the prime time.

The chalk dust was all that was left over.

Doors were closed with red marks on them.

A picture of patriarchy was nailed on the wall.

The world was soothed in adamantine chains.

New pages turned golden brown.

Images were rustic.

The canopy had dried down.

It was all a blur.

The date was twenty-two/The hair was short/The air was cold/ The hamlet was all covered in a lattice of minute hexagons
The date was twenty-two/The hair was short/The air was cold/ The hamlet was all covered in a lattice of minute hexagons

The date was twenty-two.

The hair was short.

The air was cold.

The hamlet was all covered in a lattice of minute hexagons.

The hands were blue.

The tears were black.

The last of the Indian dynasty was looking at the sun.

It was all a blur.

Trembling down the path, the luminescence rolled down/This seemed like a scene of déjà vu!/All of these humoured me!
Trembling down the path, the luminescence rolled down/This seemed like a scene of déjà vu!/All of these humoured me!

Trembling down the path, the luminescence rolled down.

This seemed like a scene of déjà vu!

All of these humoured me!

If only, I was a man?

They do it again, they do it again.

And I lie on the path of thorns.

My feminine blood did twirls in the tornado of untreated time.

Beautifully maimed down to my purple shoes, that fabricated my impersonated self.

I would live, live once more.

This time as a human

Until it all will be a blur again.

The Throbbing Knell

Did she lose her genealogy?

Or was it the call of the avalanches.

Down the patches of warm snow it felt quiet.

Someone, a misplaced name, and a voice glared at her.

They were cold!

Did she lose her genealogy?/Or was it the call of the avalanches.
Did she lose her genealogy?/Or was it the call of the avalanches.

A sad song bribed a girl of her baneful existence.

Did she choose time or lose it?

The mirth was blinking while the ballerina was on a snow globe.

Just then, the knell came throbbing before it was time;

And took away the only resource – her pulse!

She was jittery about it but looked at the fireworks.

They made her think of the sun!

 

Just then, the knell came throbbing before it was time;/And took away the only resource - her pulse!
Just then, the knell came throbbing before it was time;/And took away the only resource - her pulse!

The nectar was all oozing out when she sucked the ivy flowers.

The bribe was over and so was her pulse but she still could wait.

The girl, her choices all made up the knell this one last time.

The question was did she have an answer, again?

All Images: Unsplash.com

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9 Responses

  1. It gives me immense pleasure to read Miss Ariya Nath’s poem.It was her view ‘s and thought which end with a great philosophical idea .She is extraordinary sensetive to English literature .I wish her all out success in contemporary creative English literature.

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