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(07/07/89 / india)

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The Widow

In hollow hours,
In pristine white,
Mourning, she sat,
In her lonely fight,

She counted her hours….
Her days and years
In agony, in misery…
And In silent fear

The muted tears
Rolled down the faded cheeks
Neither mirth, nor time
Made it bleak…

The longing for love
The craving for crowd
Dead Life alive
Wailed aloud

But ears were deaf
And the eyes were blind
All freedom caged
And the life declined

A mirror, a brook….
A canvas blank
A hollow soul,
Hollowed more as the hours sank

She sat and summed,
The reveling souls
And dreamt of slumber,
A tragic hyperbole

She desired to love
To play once more
To embrace again
But the dreadful gore? ?

It made her love,
But love death and sorrow …
Cause wife to the Dead
Shall see no tomorrow! !

Submitted: Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Edited: Wednesday, July 25, 2012


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

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  • Allemagne Roßmann (9/16/2012 4:43:00 PM)

    written in its intimate details of the thematic--i appreciate

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Neetha Sasidharan (8/15/2012 7:12:00 AM)

    true and real poem...dude.....nice rhymes...kp penning...

  • Zaid Akhtar (8/9/2012 5:16:00 PM)

    And dreamt of slumber,
    A tragic hyperbole

    ! ! w-o-w! !

  • Tapas Baidya (8/2/2012 2:33:00 AM)

    The sufferings of widows vividly sketched here. A very good poem. Thanks.

    Tapas, West Bengal, India.

  • Louis Cecile (7/25/2012 2:00:00 AM)

    the last verse really clinces it for me as it brings the poem to a sad climax and all leaves no hope. Great poem.

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