I had been carved,
Well-arched,
By my master,
He took tools,
And had no rules,
I got inked,
With pain,
He made me a doll,
I don't wish,
I don't laugh,
I don't doubt,
And,
I don't fly,
I am a showpiece
For you...
Ah! You sold me!
To an admirer,
Who did nothing,
Only crafted me more,
My feathers cut,
He too cut my gut,
Slowly,
gradually,
I was old,
I was further carved,
By your off springs,
Now my throat cut,
Matryoshka -forever burnt!
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YOU ARE READING
Words Unspoken
PoetryThere is a community of the spirit. Join it, and feel the delight of walking in the noisy street, and being the noise. Drink all your passion, and be a disgrace. Close both eyes to see with the other eye. Open your hands, if you want to be...
