One who reads, writes. As promised, We keep bringing to you 'aS featured' where we publish select ‘arbit speculations’ submitted by our readers to us. Ujjwal Raghuvanshi brings to you a heart wrenching piece of poem this poetry month. Do you think you might have some long lost poem kept somewhere that might be worth featuring? Send it in to arbitspecs@googlegroups.com. We're waiting, poets!
Door was ajar, waiting for the eonian night to end.
Window was still, heralding the arrival of the moonlit breeze.
Still as the sun, she laid, her face trying hard to deceive the phantasms of her mind.
“Pas, laisse-moi” shot through the silence, she fell of the lair.
Once a pleasant face of a bride was now contorted with hapless fear.
Beads of sweat rolled down her marble skin; a shiver ran down her spine.
She knew her time was coming lest her conscience believed it.
Bathed with icy water but her mind shrieked of hot blood.
Carefully draped her earthly modesty with the silken gown.
White it was a symbol of virginity; fate grimaced at her marred one.
Veil shrouded her eyes but her vision was clear.
Diamonds sparkled dimly as her face glowed.
Her hair bun held the tiara dripping in the reminiscences of her forgotten life.
With the family heirloom clasped tightly, red rose, bible she was a bride truly marrying the night.
Stepped out of the croft in her moccasins; she felt liberated.
The erred had to be made right, that’s where she started to.
Tiptoeing past the picturesque visages she had her mind playing tricks on her.
Last moment hitch, hesitation wreathed her naïve senses; not being beguiled by the capricious three
sisters she reached her destined place.
Neatly cropped hillock littered with poppies and basil, where she stood.
A cryptic smile playing, she stepped into the oblivion leaving behind the avarice of the mankind.
A soul was lost, so was the hope.
There was never spring again.
Door was ajar, waiting for the eonian night to end.
Window was still, heralding the arrival of the moonlit breeze.
Still as the sun, she laid, her face trying hard to deceive the phantasms of her mind.
“Pas, laisse-moi” shot through the silence, she fell of the lair.
Once a pleasant face of a bride was now contorted with hapless fear.
Beads of sweat rolled down her marble skin; a shiver ran down her spine.
She knew her time was coming lest her conscience believed it.
Bathed with icy water but her mind shrieked of hot blood.
Carefully draped her earthly modesty with the silken gown.
White it was a symbol of virginity; fate grimaced at her marred one.
Veil shrouded her eyes but her vision was clear.
Diamonds sparkled dimly as her face glowed.
Her hair bun held the tiara dripping in the reminiscences of her forgotten life.
With the family heirloom clasped tightly, red rose, bible she was a bride truly marrying the night.
Stepped out of the croft in her moccasins; she felt liberated.
The erred had to be made right, that’s where she started to.
Tiptoeing past the picturesque visages she had her mind playing tricks on her.
Last moment hitch, hesitation wreathed her naïve senses; not being beguiled by the capricious three
sisters she reached her destined place.
Neatly cropped hillock littered with poppies and basil, where she stood.
A cryptic smile playing, she stepped into the oblivion leaving behind the avarice of the mankind.
A soul was lost, so was the hope.
There was never spring again.
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