The thunder never rumbles
Nor does it croon.
All it does is silently purr-
Pity, it knows no decibel.
The waves never do crash
Nor does she reign a fury.
She merely cradles her womb-
Pity, she hemorrhages.
The cartridge never loads itself,
All it does is fill a hollow.
And as it defaecates, in relief-
Pity, blood spills.
The words that I pour out
In this constricted space,
Hurt it you can't, nor can you kill-
Pity, it is the stillborn child of my thoughts.
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3 years ago
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"She merely cradles her womb-
ReplyDeletePity, she hemorrhages"
Awed at how you could use the word "haemorrhages" in such a context.
[i]The words that I pour out
In this constricted space,
Hurt it you can't, nor can you kill-
Pity, it is the stillborn child of my thoughts. [/i]
This is the most beautiful part. Love it absolutely :-)
strong one
ReplyDeletesharp as a knife
This one chills inside, when I read it again.
ReplyDeletePity as against empathy... and the utter hollowness of it all!!!
beautifully crafted!
@rini
ReplyDeletethank you! am glad u liked doz lines :)
@shalu
thankz for de read :)
@usha mema
thanks a bunch!:) n yea, me decided to follow the "right" path! :p
Yippe!!!.. now I like this better n better...
ReplyDeleteGood work sash!!