Madam Giselle
Love, poetry

The Robe of Woes

While many are busy taking dips in the

tears of self-gloat, I stitched myself a golden

robe, embellished with the thin silver wires

of saline tears…


Embroidered mighty rivers with scarlet

drops of blood, ruby rivers flowing through

ancient courses of hems and stitches,


The lush strings of  pangs of suffering to weave

tight-hymned maids eager to take plunge in

cerulean waters to spare themselves

the sorrows of broken-hearts.


The luminous copper threads of fine miseries

to lace together the old cupid boys’ sans

dimples flanking on either side a grayish figure

of plight adorned on a turquoise pom-pom vessel

on the frothy waves of cherry rivers,

A Third Coming may be.


While some are busy taking dips in tears

of self-gloating I wear my splendid robe

sewed out of woes and despair specially

at twilight with a marked pride of a society

lady carrying a  smile finished with

barbed wires.




15 thoughts on “The Robe of Woes”

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.