shveta sahal


The Tissue


The thread that wipes the painful tears,
Available in all patterns fiery and sheer,
The fabric that consoles the ailing heart,
Providing instant relief almost in dart,
The twill that stands in moments of agony,
With those that often feign misogyny,
The strand that relieves congestion,
In moments of pure desolate isolation,
Selfishly discarded when used and abused,
Thrown into oblivion giving lame excuse,
Made guilty for staining the stained hand,
Labeled infectious desecrating worldly trend,
You lie in dustbin condemned and dazed,
Once close companion now fully erased…

Submitted: Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 10, 2013
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