At the doorstep

A tale of unspoken bond that rusts as natural as Iron

It was when the sun was getting smeared with the decaying red shades of His palette,

   It was when the uphill road was longing to breathe sience after a busy day-

                                                                   That she was ready to leave.

She was standing at the doorstep,awaiting for her last perks and run back.

               Run back to her ailing mother in the damped room ,where hunger fights with diseased sighs  .

She was standing at the doorstep,busily collecting the memories spread in disguise of artmaking;

Collecting the vastness of her own self created over that corner canvas for twelve nights and days.

  Collecting all those stares of his upon her ,uncountable to him .

                   Her loyalty to time and counting  assigned them numbers.

She was standing at the doorstep,gazing over the ruins of colours;

    Gazing upon those litters ,where each paper holds a piece of her,faultily expressed.

    Gazing  upon those reds and blues or whites to fill her biggest scar with crimson joy.

She laughed at those seating hours,where her every ordered postures were paid creatory efforts for him.

                         And for her,the concious existence went on drowning.

She stood on the doorway,hairs unarranged,face bathed in evening lights and eyes enacting the world's most careful negligence.

He stepped at the doorway.

  Handed her twenty five rubles.

   Begged her pardon for making her suffer  these twelve days.

She smiled;her last sensible smile.

Scaringly pale if he could have attend upon it.

She smiled knowing how her life have taken the most unpardonable change for those sufferings.

                         They exchanged greetings.

She swung open the garden gate and flung into the road,he stood in the doorway.

Two souls parted just as they were meant to be.

Author's Note

friends of all ages,here is my first attempt of showcasing whatever wordplays i try to my own.want some honest reviews.

Reviews

[Wixed]

This is a lovely poem!

You paint a very nice picture with your interesting word choice. My favorite line in this poem is "It was when the sun was getting smeared with the decaying red shades of his palette", your first line, which draws in the reader effortlessly.

A few suggestions (aside from some punctuation additions) would be changing some words and adding pauses to keep with the overall arrangement. Ex:

"She was standing at the doorstep,awaiting for her last perks and run back."

remove the word "for" and change the word "and" to the word "to".

She was standing at the doorstep, awaiting her last perks, to run back.

"She laughed at those seating hours,where her every ordered postures were paid creatory efforts for him."

She laughed at those seatless hours, where her ordered postures paid architectural efforts for him.

[Marianne Rose]

A haunting story, filled with uncanny images thrown together to make a new perspective. There is mystery and sadness woven throughout the tale of 12 days, apprehension and relief. There are parts I didn't quite understand, but that's okay- inside the mind of this girl, twisted images come forth, I cannot hope to understand her experience, but I can feel her. My one suggestion is to check your spelling of different words- did you mean "litters" or "letters"? Each hold a different connotation. I'm not sure about the word "creatory"- perhaps "creative" or did you mean to use that word, unknown to me? And the verb tense "if he could have attended it" or "if he could attend to it". "Her life had taken" or "could have taken" would be two alternatives to what you wrote. Otherwise, the story comes through beautifully, in her experience of letting herself be his for those 12 days and nights, to gain enough to bring back to her ailing mother. I love the last line, a great ending. Thank you.