Ok,so before i begin let me warn you,this is going to be long.trust me this is one of the longest poems i have written.if you really do get the meaning of the narrative poem,trust me ,it would sound beautiful,but if it is read just for the sake of reading...it would sound equivalent to nothing more than "narrative rhyming crap"...so PLEASE READ TILL THE END-It would take just 2 minutes but would mean the world to me.
and-feedback is always welcome....read on!
Her hair flowed down,
Wavy locks of blonde,
Eyes fierce,hues of brown,
Her face reflecting in the clear pond.
She stared,unbelievably,
It was of a piece of art,the soul,
Sculpted beautifully,carefully,
She sat there,stone cold.
Te room was all white,
Marble floor,lonely and bare,
Not a soul in sight,
Just the girl who at her reflection would stare.
She sat there,pen in hand,
Book on lap,lost in thought,
Her heart and brain would demand,
Along with the agonising memories brought.
Innocent,a child she used to be,
Clear heart,as clear as the water,
Stranger to catastrophe,
No need or urge to her role alter.
She stared,the nostalgia she gulped,
She was a child,free,
In front of her the "ugly" unfurled,
She had missed the time she would ask " why me?"
She recalled the noon,
Fragrant,colourful,by rules it would abide,
The phone rang,little had she known what awaited her,
"Your parents are dead,car crash it was."said the lady on the other side.
Dead,gone,never to be seen again they were,
She was all alone,
She stared with hatred,
At the wretched phone.
She had died inside,gone into a hole,
No more were the scents,no more the colours,
She was reduced to a lifeless soul,
This game had only losers.
She recalled the day her best friend had betrayed her,
Let her go!abandoned her to find her way,
Fight the dark,perish in the maze,she would draw to the world the shutter,
In this game,she realised,there was only night,no day.
Deserted,marooned,alone,
Her life,turned from spectrum to monochrome,
But she found her voice,a nightingale,
Her singing would possess even the devil.
She sang,the world had heard her,her voice in the crowds' ears rang,
Captured hearts,she had,
Red carpets were soon laid down for her,treated like a queen,
the flashing cameras became familiar for her image on screen.
the crowds would cheer-"once more",
her songs would flash on the billboard,
the turn had been magical,
around fame and glamour her life would twirl.
soon,hate thrown at her,
she was scarred and marked,
she would perish instead of prosper,
from society she was debarred.
stabbed once again,
the cursing over her would rain,
she failed to her wounds cover,
she had died a millionth time,drowned in a pool of dark behind the glamour.
died again-she had,
soul gone all bland,
the magic drained away,
she was again the loser in this game this play.
she stared,pen in hand,
book open on lap,
her reflection staring back,
sculpted,the masked pain would overlap.
she had set down to write a story,
the story of her life.
she had done it,written it completely,
torn out pages with a pocket knife.
the brown book still lies on the white floors,
tear stains,floating in a river where blood flows,
cries,sorrow regret masked,
all under fake smiles,sculpted faces and flashing cameras.
****************************************************************
YOU ARE READING
Inking vacuum
Poetry******* Is it dark or am I blind? Is it hollow or am I outside? Is the world deaf or am I the deaf one unable to hear the world responding back? ****** Previously known as "kaleidoscopic ink" ******* this book is a collection of poems(short and long...
