By Sweta Mohapatra
If Love is a colour, I am Water
If Love is a creature, I am it’s long lost master.
If I could meet him again,
I’d applaud for the shameful sham of manliness
his chest proudly thumps when he wavers.
Why am I entitled to his manoeuvre
in my haunted imaginations injected by his syringe,
as I watch them pierce through my flesh to observe
the reflection of his rogue eyes cracking out of my glass ceiling?
If Hatred is a drop, I am the ocean
If Hatred is a sword, I am long gone.
If our lives take a turn, a turn for the better
I wonder what he would wish to become for
I would like to taste the freedom that I could happily, valiantly devour.
The episode rushes in my flushed bloodstream
that’s tired and forlorn as I pine to escape,
I might be one of his many outworn skins,
but I would always remember his visage.
If Vengeance is a King, I am the Kingdom
If Vengeance is a Queen, I don’t exist in this realm.
For it takes a heart to be a queen,
but in his dynasty of empty salvation, there exists only
his burnt manpower and ash-gold sheath.
The wife eulogizes her husband’s deeds and
his daughter trusts the tender affection of her dad,
will they ever know that he lies through his teeth
as he embraces his mother with his highest self of glass?
If Life is a God, I am an Atheist
If Life is an act, I am Pierrot.
Ominous strains of echoes, echoes only surround
where I pretend to survive with the words
“Hide behind a mask, ruin your life”
while he walks around barefaced, no strings attached.
He’s one out of the lot
who violate the chosen,
those not weak
but dominant
to create repentance for
everything that
was uprooted from them.
If Relinquish is a battle, I am Athena
If Relinquish is his homeland, I am treason.
In the shambles of the abyss,
I leant to conjure
the essence of the zenith
to bring end to the
sculpture of your leftover fingerprints.
Foolish Impudence
your gruff incompetence reeks,
bestowed with pretend strength and might
you almost won when I crumbled and
renounced the will to breathe.
Might your eyes prey upon this strain of my aggression,
then I voice this pity party has bitten the dust;
Now I breathe to outlive your fiendish disposition
and outgrow my barbed wires round your false crust.