Prism..

Windows… Through the blue pane she gazes To see a trogon sinking down With flames of fire in her plumage As if, the sun killed its rainbow And the fireball snapped its crown.
Lamps… In a corner she sits and stares To see a moth chasing a dream Hoping to blend with that flame That straightaway burned her wings, And left the ashes as a sign of its sin.
Glasses… Some old wine and her bleeding lips Each freezing drib, Sip by sip she drinks every drop so cold, She holds at heart As it blends with the red wine, For blood loves blood, even if debased with lust.
Frames… She slides her fingers on faces As if, they travelled through the glass And each stroke seduced the lines in her hand. Moving like water filling the bloody gaps, Mending a few cuts, it returned back, To make those sketches hazy, and break her sleep, Drop by drop, each silver bead fell from her eyes And left the water as bulks of ice……
Mirror….

She stands alone to see those Snakes syncing to all her rhythms, time paints her with different shades yet only one colour stays, and her life keeps pelting in acidic glasses for she is nothing now , but the sweet red wine that someday flowed under her skin………
sweet red wine~