Sunday, October 05, 2008

VANITY...



Lo behold! Let’s go and vend,
Threads that took me eons to rend.

I must, share myself with the world,
On and off it has been my friend.

The skin takes time before falling off,
Every incision, someone comes to mend.

Yet somehow, the scars stand apart,
An archive of each, curve and bend.

The journey to purgation still unfinished,
The destination a delusion a dead dead end.

Scribbling on sheet, surfeited tales,
And these vain verses “Mirage” shall
rend.

7 comments:

Mampi said...

So you have finally taken to this genre?
I see a singer of Jagjit Singh's stature singing your verses some day.

Impressionist said...

dang!
"Yet somehow, the scars stand apart,
An archive of each, curve and bend.

The journey to purgation still unfinished,
The destination a delusion a dead dead end."

those are some killer lines lady!

-I

writerwoman said...

I am linking to you today from Poets Who Blog. There are two requirements to being a member of PWB

you link back
you stop by once a week and visit a blog linked to by us and leave one comment.

Hope you enjoy being a member.

Sara

Shubhajit said...

hmmmm...time, time and time..

I interpret your verse with time...as i feel time is the biggest friend and also the biggest foe and the journey is always remain unfinished..thats inevitable rule for ordinary human beings.

Why Vanity?

soulpoetrysiteblog said...

There is always a reason for each and everyone of us to be alive. Yes, we hurt at times. But at other times, we exist and are happy.

Wonderful poem!

adi said...

:) the vanity of being alive, when death appeals more to the mind; the vanity of words, when wordlessness is the real state of mind; the vanity of being vain, and knowing it; the vanity of vanity itself, how addicted it sounds :)

"from an endless dream, ego took birth, that was the beginning of the man, that was the beginning of being", thus says the wizard

human being said...

the destination...
hmmm...
maybe it's just now and here...

and vanity another face of sanity...


enjoyed reading your poem as always...
bitterly beautiful... or beautifully bitter?!

DIALECT. left to time, it withered, like a dead corpse hung from wall, after the sentence. no poems to defend, no stories to tell, n...