What If

Crystal-like rays,

Sequencing her footsteps,


Of cooling embers,

That construct her

cyclic thoughts.


A rhythm


by the worn sandals

slapping the concrete,

A pattern, committed

to memory.


Look there she goes


Searching for a rope

to hang onto


she goes again,

scavenging for a star

that makes her

heart sore.



of sense


of passion

Down she goes

where the lips

smile, eyes

devoid, of a

thirst to live

the lie she is caught in.


Shrivelled hands

mimicking the limp

Of autumn flowers,

Ruby cast of the

setting sun 


to a dull maroon.


Look she’s

acting up


Nuisance, to the

sympathetic caresses, the

“You’re okay”,  smiles.


Yes, turn a blind eye,

when she is


in a web

of bleached rainbows

cringing at the wilted leaf in

the glass.


Oblivious, they call her,

ignorant, of what

she has.

“Learn to appreciate!” the

jests fall

like a mocking siren.


Rid her

of the delusions

she has flowered.

Snatch away

the paint,

that spoke of her beauty.


There she stood


Not a care in the world

for pretence courtesies,

And here

she kneels now,

at the mercy of her ringmasters.


Come, take your

time, if you will,

to ogle

as the cold eyes

stare back.

Push her off

the tips of her



into madness.


+Manushrie Verma+


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