My pieces, not one but many
I was scattered every where
Splashes of tears, bullets of words
It was more bloodier than I can share!
The closest arm would cast a blow
And arrows that tongues fired
It was hell than the Devil's own
I was the Child it never sired!
I could hardly cry, or even speak
All of it was so much of shock
My lips, though smirked at times,
At my fate and it wonderful mock!
As my sculptors hammered to break me down
Each blow showed me reality's face
I ran then, to save my soul
Leaving behind their sophisticated grace
Wild was more appealing and real,
With my bareness so acceptable
I could be me as much as I wished
Everything was so natural
I just had dreamt of orchards and trees
All to grow in my wilder woods
But I am now dragged back to war
Without arms or combat boots!
I stare at sky as I head to leave
With packed bag and rolled-up bed
Now, am going back to same war zone
Sometimes living is uglier than the death!
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Posted by Sneha Koirala Sunday, January 15, 2012 Labels: Poem