Sunday, 17 November 2013


Chastity of the world rose like dead fish and
The smell of un-cremated emotions stealthily polluted
The waters that flew patiently beneath the core.

Feeling the warmth of the decaying carcass, the poet
Laundered ceaselessly his stained outfit presented
By his mother at the revered hour when poetry was
Implanted in him with the surge of 'bili' lights.

He never slept again, waking up with a start,
Forgetting the jaundice which killed his better half,
Which continued to haunt him when he tried to move his limbs.

A stammer never escaped his speech, but his poems
Overflowed with the love that his mother lacked
When she left him alone with the blue lights, which
He revived unerringly, each time with a silent disgust!

On a day when apathy crept through his quiescent half,
He found a crushed chrysalis in his garden, he looked
At it and wrote the poem which you have just strode on!


  1. i am glad that despite his beginnings he found live...and enough to share...and the words....the words they def help us find our way through things as well....

  2. Great poem, writing helps us during difficult times.

  3. such a difficult path, but it makes a great poet.

  4. A very impressive tale. The ending was perfection.

  5. Thank God for writing, which gets us through the hardest times. This is beautifully written and shows the strength we have to survive - and thrive.

  6. Those who have suffered have empathy , more love to give and better insights. We have stumbled on your poem...not strided upon is walking on your lovely poem.

    1. Well, I agree about the 'empathy' part. And striding upon the poem is not a bad thing, its like you (the reader) and I are making a travel together through the poem. :)

  7. i like how you've used the image of 'a crushed chrysalis'....... very well crafted.....