As the dawn sees her

POV- I imagined living in the Victorian Era and had a feeling to write a poem. Hence this came out.

The neighbourhood is a wet puddle.
Across the streets, I see the women having a camp-fire
whispering soft murmurs about the mundanity of life,
into the blue hemishphere
where stays a large apple- tree.
 The women of my town are a faint pear-
with whitest bosom and whitest eyes.

 Look,
the hourglass shapes have moved now- 
torn between the edges of languages,

one is cutting the rind of a lemon
while the other makes a lemonade.
They banter vicariously and live through the sky.
rust on their elbow, as if a second skin to their thighs.
   
  The women shaped as exhibitionist
gulping down a massive portion of tranquil shines:
They can't see.
They can't hear perhaps.
They have done the job
when the dark falls,
one word at a time-
one woman to another. 

The women are too fast to remember anything the next day.
Advertisement

Published by

my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

4 thoughts on “As the dawn sees her”

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s