Thursday 16 October 2008

Pity!

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.

5 comments:

  1. "She merely cradles her womb-
    Pity, 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 :-)

    ReplyDelete
  2. strong one
    sharp as a knife

    ReplyDelete
  3. This one chills inside, when I read it again.

    Pity as against empathy... and the utter hollowness of it all!!!

    beautifully crafted!

    ReplyDelete
  4. @rini
    thank 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

    ReplyDelete
  5. Yippe!!!.. now I like this better n better...

    Good work sash!!

    ReplyDelete

Hollers!!

 

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