A very intense poem by friend, Sree Latha. How wonderfully the fire of energy flows in the veins of those lines...absolutely Intense! A honourable rebel A quieter place, this world, after you left Wherefore do these regrets come from? Why do they beg redress? Shame that Passions die; Shameless regrets survive by and by! The squeak in my shoe is you, The stitch falling apart at the seams is you, The tangle in my uncombed hair is you, The mid-night ice-cream snack is you, The missed heart-beat, the dried tear-drop, The song I hum, the silence I break, The poem I pen, the stories I make, Is you, you, you! When the spirit of summer Heats up my head I long for rose wine, to wet my throat to gulp down the pain That rises with your name; When the rains dampen walls I long to smoke, to feel my lungs Burn up your inscribed name, The thought itself is a shame Because I am supposed to be a lady Who never speaks aloud, never drinks beer, Burps or farts, never courts controversy, Only courts men who are pretty; And so I rebel within my prescribed limits; Every little rebellion in living is you now; I have pledged my heart to the memories we made Because passion dead is regret lived in pain, I die a little death every day, Then resuscitate with a kiss of your memory.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Jun 2013 09:09:22 +0000
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