A living ache

My sister leaves my place
with a whiff of subtle memories.
Her spatial countenance, like face of a new bud,
blooming petals and uncut diamonds.
My savior in dark alleys and haunted houses,
Lone deserts and amazon forests.
Sister, save me today
for you share my blood.
I can’t move. My heart denies to beat. My limbs refuse to shift.
This body is now a sea of gothic waves.
Zillions of parallel waves colliding in this vaporized structure of bones and flesh.
A living ache yearns to hail inside my empty belly,
never decaying.
Shield me,
Protect me!
I am this voluptuous anger today.
I am the endless storm,
birthing a vast sea of gothic waves,
and the tides not under the control of moon.
A cyclone of three-dimensional anxiety encircles my heart.


By Shreya Sharma

I read poems. Sometimes I write poems. And when I am doing nothing, I am sipping coffee.


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