Saturday, May 9, 2009

Of Love and Other Bruises

Smashed like a china vase
into tiny pieces
battered like malleable iron
rejected like a pen that does not write
a fallen bird, with a broken wing.

Even then, if a love refuses to die
is it a pure flame or is my life a lie?

If a mother beats and spurns her child
Where does the child walk away?

2 comments:

vrun said...

What a piece of poetry. Poignance, reality brilliantly embedded.

ishani said...

i love this one...
a sense of loss and pain and questioning.. excellent.