Friday, 2 August 2013


She dwells-
In the broken lines of her palm,
The lines forming a maze of figures.

She finds within there-
A circle like the whirlpool
She stand there on its edge
She bends to take a peep into it
Ah...she is engulfed by it.

She moves on the-
Two lines parallel like a rail-track
She ponders and moves
The track never reaches its end
Worn and torn, she keeps moving on.

She clambers onto the-
Three lines like a mountain peak
She pants and gasps
And, the cliff gets steeper
She stumbles and slips down .

She confines herself to-
The four lines like the walls
She fidgets for the door
The rusty latch never gives away
Her fingers get bloodied.

She dwells-
In the maze of lines on her palm,
The broken lines join together.

She wears them like wings,
And soars high in the vast
Freeing herself, finally from
All the lines and confines.

No comments:

Post a Comment