Flower
The creased blue bedspread reeked of sweat
The wilted flower in the beige vase drooped dead.
Last night, when he purchased it from the little peddler the flower was way beyond doom.
Running his hands over the few sickly pollen that hung on defiantly he wondered if it would last the journey to the house?
By the time he reached the house a few petals had fallen by the wayside
the fleeting breaths of a dying soul.
He rang the bell. There was no answer
He rang it again. He could hear unsteady feet walk towards the door.
It was a minute or two before she opened it.
Come in, she said, half happy, half reluctant.
This after all was sin.
Look whom I got, he said, flourishing the half wilted life.
Oh, its gorgeous she smiled, let me get it a vase.
That night as they made fervent love the flower looked on from its perch in the vase.
Clawing, gasping, pounding and thrusting they clamoured for a bit more of the other.
Too wretched with being lonely, they devoured each other with an animal ferocity. The flower watched on.
Dawn broke and the wind blew in stale city smells
He rose from the bed and looked at the vase
The drooping flower fluttered gently in the cool morning breeze.
The wilted flower in the beige vase drooped dead.
Last night, when he purchased it from the little peddler the flower was way beyond doom.
Running his hands over the few sickly pollen that hung on defiantly he wondered if it would last the journey to the house?
By the time he reached the house a few petals had fallen by the wayside
the fleeting breaths of a dying soul.
He rang the bell. There was no answer
He rang it again. He could hear unsteady feet walk towards the door.
It was a minute or two before she opened it.
Come in, she said, half happy, half reluctant.
This after all was sin.
Look whom I got, he said, flourishing the half wilted life.
Oh, its gorgeous she smiled, let me get it a vase.
That night as they made fervent love the flower looked on from its perch in the vase.
Clawing, gasping, pounding and thrusting they clamoured for a bit more of the other.
Too wretched with being lonely, they devoured each other with an animal ferocity. The flower watched on.
Dawn broke and the wind blew in stale city smells
He rose from the bed and looked at the vase
The drooping flower fluttered gently in the cool morning breeze.
My dear Gauri,
ReplyDeleteRemove the black screen. Depressing. Lighten up your blog with quotes and little bits of colour. A few pics.
Have a look at Gauri Gharpure's blog "Life Rules" gaurigharpure.blogspot.com.
One of my recent students, she's my teacher in the blogsphere.
When in Pune, do call. My mobile is: 99700-17039. SMS your mobile number to me. We'll put together something.
Warm regards,
- Joe.
black screen or not, that was a good poem. painful especially because it is recognised. like looking out a bus window and seeing someone who might be from your hometown. and therefore feeling less alone for that. thanks!
ReplyDeleteI am glad you liked it feddabonn, it was not intended to be a poem though it turned out that way...just stray ramblings...but am glad you liked it!
ReplyDeletelol. a poem (in my lazy-and-can't-be-bothered-to-look-it-up definition) is something that is poetic. so there! :)
ReplyDelete