Saturday, July 05, 2014


Sleepless nights.
Unvoiced sighs.
The absence of him cutting through my skin,
The ache razor-sharp, unrelenting.

Silvery moonlight.
Star-spangled skies.
Like a spurned lover, 
The night weeps on dawn's doorstep.
Neither can remain in the presence of the other.

The hazy red of sunrise.
The wind in my hair.
The parting gift of the dying night -
Is a nip in the air.
And the glare of the sun,
A rude awakening.

Was I another Pygmalion-
In an absurd dream?
Doomed to love a mound of stone till death.
Doomed to long for him to awake.
Whilst he slept his blissful, eternal sleep.
Perhaps, after all-
He was never mine to keep.



CRD said...

WOAAHH! Look who's back! With a bang! :)

Intense stuff...I had to read the poem twice, because you started it saying that 'HE' was cutting through your skin. But towards the end, YOU were comparing YOURSELF with Pygmalion. The second reading made it clear. The protagonist is being carved and cut into (bearing pain) and is also deeply in love with a stone-hearted man.


Do drop by mine. I recently did a picture parody of Sholay (read: memes), if that suits your tastes. You can read other stuff too.


Samadrita said...

Yep I imagined a female Pygmalion in love with the stone statue of a man this time. :)

Good to find you once again, Chris.

Being Pramoda... said...

Hey, that imagination is something different and interesting!


Samadrita said...

Thank you, Pramoda.

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