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:
What a piece of poetry. Poignance, reality brilliantly embedded.
i love this one...
a sense of loss and pain and questioning.. excellent.
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