Walking with her… in her heels

she wakes up drenched in the ocean of dreams,

and hurries off to repair, work on her life’s seams,

brushing rivulets of her hair, she leans into the mirror,

considering self, moving forward near and nearer,

only disturbed by the ring of the peaceful phone,

but deciding whether to attend it or not, it is gone

to leave a silence, that she tastes tingling on her lips,

and finally, she leaves for the streets, swaying her hips,

down the path to the usual location, she waits,

habitually ignoring the trail of car after car that rates,

the size and shape of her and others of her business,

conforming to their needs, their lives of weakness,

one hand points towards her, agreeing her to come,

she notices, complies, and through the door she sits glum,

on the seat reeking of cigarettes and urine of old,

she feels the four wheels move, she is now sold

to the night, forgetful of her heart that refuses to beat,

she falls out, not to see a thing or hear the fall of sleet,

coming to herself, she stands, stumbling, stiffness she feels,

exits a bar, a motel, an apartment in her heels,

carefully counting the bills, walking on into the day,

alone on the path where there are many and many  lay,

but no one really is, but for dreams that await on the single bed,

those false entities have no seams repaired, she has no threads

.

Image source

I started off without any thought but then I was reminded of the insensitivity of some people towards those… whose lives they have not lived and yet they judge. They do not know how it is to be in their shoes. I feel and I can at least try to imagine their lives… and give words to their untold stories. This is a work of fiction but it may well be a real life account… I don’t know.

I appreciate constructive criticism.

I am linking it up with dVerse Meeting the Bar.

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penance

Woman in white of face withering

away with a wane look in eyes

pleas for penance for less than pensive

attitude towards the plight of

those who suffer seams of stress

time and again same as ever

 

she traverses, travels for that time

when she’d understand truth after all

she drowns and drenches in ditches

of the pure waters, drink for relief

from her callous crimes that cause

her infinitesimal catastrophic pain

* I tried.. for dverse Form for All. At least there is alliteration.. <<innocent>>

Look me in the eyes

Look me in the eyes

these eyes tell my story

look beyond those tears

look beyond that renitence

that appears in my eyes

Look and tell me

what you see in them

tell me what you perceive

tell me my own story

story I don’t know myself

for I can’t look

in my own eyes.

To write a poem…

It takes only a moment to write a poem

only if we widen our mind’s horizon-

see through those dark spaces

no one ever cared to look,

pass through those lonely streets,

reaching that limit

where you are alone 

but not yet so,

where everything is confusing

but you understand it all.