The pain I feel

In the darkened walls of mud,
I see some moss, the only green.
Rains lashing, its sound I hear,
and a drop keeps falling from the roof.

I am chained to the corner, a sad day,
but tomorrow to me is no brighter.
A gloomy forecast was in my palm
when my bangles broke and thrust into my skin.

Blood. Red.

In the colorful attire of matrimony,
I walked with him breathing the smoke in the pious fire.
All around, the yellow, green, red circled.
The yellow on the sun, the green on the paddy,
the red on my forehead,
I felt beautiful, light.

A dip in the water. Holy water.
It was my turn at varanasi.

Blood. Red.

An irony that the red should smudge unto itself.
But further that life should unto death.
I sit thus with no story to tell,
no one to hear, except blabber to my own self.

The pain I feel.

Reviews

[cfix]

An irony that the red should smudge unto itself.
But further that life should unto death.
I sit thus with no story to tell,
no one to hear, except blabber to my own self.

I really enjoyed these lines here,
This is a very well expressed write and emotional.
I enjoyed reading this.