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.