Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Slain Love

You ask me to write to you and about you
Tell me though
What would I write
Where would I write
Why would I write
When there is nothing to write
You ask a dead woman to hold the pen with fingers stiff as stone
You want a dead woman to breadth when her body had given up
You want a dead woman to live when her existence you vanquished and effaced
You blamed all on my ego which was a mirage
Never had you looked at yourself in mirror
You were successful in thrusting all your anguishes on your own child
Never heard her crying foul to let her live
Now when you killed her, you want her body to rot in hell
She gracefully accepted it as her predicament
Still her soul weeps in dark woods
You mention your needs were miniscule to hers
Never did you note she erased her memory for you
Took the pain to be born again
The eternal pleasure you derived from her pain
Would only replenish her agony
Yet o’heartless dwells in what you made of your child
Would you take pleasure in her walking on the street as out from her grave?
Her flesh gone and melted
So devoured your heart is as ego did not leave it a room
Still her spirit waits for her freedom
Free her
As you would not want the sin to linger of slaying your love




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