To Quill the Mocking World
(3 min read)
so she says she is a closet writer..
her phone screen displays a weather
of forlorn hills and misty clouds..
her wings are tied but her soul bounds
she was the girl who i once loved
who loved me back..
her yesteryear..i am…
now a rusted cycle and a dusty book rack
i saw her watching shadows for hours..
dancing twigs and flickering fireflies and night stars
she would love the puddles and the paper boat
and lick the raindrops dripping from her raincoat
sometimes she made funny faces in the mirror..
sometimes she blew kisses in the air
other days, collected the cobblestones and counted streetlamps
her frocks were all yellow and danced with a buoyant flair
she sipped the tip of her pen..
while fingers were lost in her gypsy hair
she dreamt of the beautiful places and hills
and wrote poems of the far off islands and windmills
i, the yesteryear, am somewhere in the gossamers of her mind
she comes there once in a while to rewind
there she dusts off the book rack as the moon wanes
runs her fingers over the half written poems and coffee stains
puzzled, she sighs for our lost love..
of the bygones times and forgotten dreams
all she has are lego bricks pieces that she puts on herself
and looks bravely in the mirror that screams
coming of age, she figures out a way to find a new way
searching for something that could behold her
with the same spell
like the one i had…but oh well!
Vishala is a Guest author at Soulgasm.
(Click here to read our first book “Mirrored Spaces” : A poetry and art anthology in English and Hindi with contributions from 22 artists)
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