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(07/07/89 / india)

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The Song

The wound was raw,
The gore was red
The wind was cold,
From the north it fled
I shivered with cold
In awe, disgraced,
My flesh all fresh
With life all dead
I wept out loud,
And more it bled! ! !

The face all charred
In the flames of shame
My flesh all smeared
A profaned name
A Million bruises,
A hideous game
A muted object
And a soul so lame! ! !

Disgraced and abhorred,
A woman I was born
To tear my heart,
A journey forlorn
To bleed and live,
And feed life along
A hateful beauty
And a lamenting song! ! !

Submitted: Thursday, November 01, 2012
Edited: Friday, November 02, 2012


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Comments about this poem (The torn Skin by ritwika raha )

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  • Asif Andalib (11/27/2012 12:21:00 AM)

    Beautiful flow and rhyme. Outburst of heartfelt emotions. Lovely. Keep it up

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  • Sudeshna Majumdar (11/2/2012 11:38:00 AM)

    Beautifully weaved- the thought, the words, the rhyme, the moments... :) :)

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