Rings of Smoke

These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis.

rebuff

Posted on | December 1, 2008 | 1 Comment

there is this small matter,
of wounds and pain,
between you and me,
an ancient enmity…

a small,temporary issue,
i keep telling myself,
every time when i resolve,
not to speak to you again…

an issue of life and death,
and the limbo in between,
everynight,when i go to bed in the cold,
huddled like a small child,
wanting to wrap you around me…

an ancient enmity,
where we were built to hurt each other,
a loathing thats reborn,
everynight,when i go to bed in the dark,
whispering to myself,wishing it was you…

these are small matters,issues of no significance,
these wounds i have from you,
except,they bleed fresh,everytime,
when i try to speak to you,and you ignore me…

when i smile at you,and you look through,
i wear that rebuff,like an ornate shawl,
warm,with the rush of blood to my cheeks,
and red with my trampled pride,
as beautiful as love,and garish as hurt,
its a small thing,this rejection,
and i wear it wrapped around me,
as elegant as silence.

P.S. borrowed in part from this excellent poem by varali.

Current Music: Kabhi Kisi ko Muquammal Jahan    Current Mood: Pensive

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Comments

One Response to “rebuff”

  1. varali
    December 1st, 2008 @ 8:25 pm

    :-)

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