Saturday, August 18, 2007
The soft fabric felt queerly coarse
jerked aside,it exposed
the glint from it hurt the eye
the Mirror-her companion of dismal fantasy.
She held it,caressed it, cried like a beaten child
Not once looking lest it reveal the truth
In muffled syllables that nature speaks
Like the murmurs of the mourning ghosts
Her thoughts flickered pale and bright
in her mind, passed with a marathon creep.
The mirror unveiled slipped from her hands
broke into scattered myriad pieces, shattered
Through them, she saw life in the eye,
Coldly wise the aged face looked, and grew calm.
She had learnt that promises wait,
Compromises, behind every broken gate.
Life the broken mirror had given her the truth
to see, and comprehend in many angles.
She beheld herself in it and knew
It had taken in exchange, Her youth.
- Meghana Naidu - 7:14 PM
Friday, August 17, 2007
The fragile secret of a flower.
From waves of iridescent genesis
From mutations on mutations
From air and changing earth
unto myself i came.
My diffident spirit, which
Once gave the flame its fires.
Now hushed into a haze of doubt.
In labyrinths of purple solitude
expressions shadowed by the dark.
The living thoughts in me,
Spring from men and women.
The dead and going sources
The nexus of forgotten time.
A moment they spare; In empathy.
An obscure encounter,From shadows to spring
I come, they come with me.
Finding words through me they echo
I hear them cry, Never
say never again filling hope?
- Meghana Naidu - 10:59 PM