The wind, it blows, its gentleness be fierce,
a tender rush or hurtful sting.
i try to walk, head up high,
burning eyes bring fourth a cry.
I do keep walking, straight on through,
my eyes are red, the tears do blind.
i wonder if it hurt at all,
doest it feel ugly and small?
this hurtful wind reminds me of u,
of how, once u were gentle too.
i see the gate and break into a run,
hurting, screaming, wanting to be held by u.
i see them coming, smiles as wide as can be,
i dive behind a bush, pray they dont see.
slowly,slyly a hand is slipped,
gently firmly, it is gripped.
my ears are ringing, a crack is heard,
my hand so heavy, falls to my side, dead.
i get up to walk away, i hear a scream,
there is a smile, mine or hers?
2 comments:
Is this a prelude? Who was the enemy? Is s/he dead? May be dead with a smile on his face with his red, teary eyes wide open staring out at the endless grey sky.
I liike it after ages m reading ur poems!! good the dead yet undead feeling is very nicely brought by u in the poem!! btw arsehole ur were in Delhi and u neva met me lekin Mumbai jaake tuje Floey aur Mani se milne ka time mill gaya!! bandiyon ke liye time hota hai tere paas besharam :P
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