Unfinished.

Dragged to the old lane,

The string of kites.

An old unfinished story.

And through the babbling fights,

She stood dwindling-

The past was not painful-

But why it pricked,

Her bare feet in that old lane.

Her laughter was rejoiced.

And so were her tears.

Amidst the mocking faces,

She preserved her silence.

It has always been there,

With her, within her.

Her shadow, her silence…

Searches no more home.

Feel her in her soliloquies,

As silent as her eyes…

None will know her.

None shall reach…

To her old unfinished story.

Through that lane-

Dusty and dark, yet loved.

Let her story remain abandoned.

For, she won’t be she,

She will laugh her soul out,

And cry till it rain!

Her eyes will be vibrant.

And will let go her silence…

Let the story remain unfinished…

She plucks out the thorn

And it bleeds...

Her bare feet!

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

Author's Note

Some of me. Random unsynchronized thoughts.

Reviews

[Leslie Philibert]

This is a tremendous write from a poet I know well. Would advise you all to look at this. Excellent !

[jacob erin-cilberto]

sometimes long after the thorns pierce us from a bad relationship...and are pulled out...we still bleed..

and often for a long time afterward.
a very moving write,
j.

[Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"]

Thank you, J.

For such kind words...