Edges of pictures
bruised with stains of oiled fingers
and dusty mem'ries.
Reflected in tears
waiting hidden in parched eyes,
wet with fetid hope.
Wind, be merciful,
lift them away, her window
she opens for thee...
bruised with stains of oiled fingers
and dusty mem'ries.
Reflected in tears
waiting hidden in parched eyes,
wet with fetid hope.
Wind, be merciful,
lift them away, her window
she opens for thee...
great poem....what does the last stanza exactly mean?
ReplyDeleteI loved it poddy, very much, it's lovely, perhaps your best
ReplyDeleteohh brilliant :)
ReplyDeleteThanks you guys :)
ReplyDelete@Anonymous: Read it again.. perhaps you'll get it..?
ReplyDelete