
She opens her hands,
clenched for years
in a tight fist
like a new-born,
but these fists hold no secrets
of a mother’s womb,
no innocence, or dreams freshly sown—
instead, their hardened skin bears
lacerations that come
from a hard grip
on a fugitive soul
sliding mercilessly
into the devil's pit
deep, deep
where she buried
old wounds
(c) Neetu M.
all I hear is this song…
carried to my ears upon waves
as they ebb and return
a symphony of love
played on instruments
of the heart—
I wait eagerly
for absolute darkness
to lose my shadow
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More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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