When still there is room to recreate and redesign yourself, dare do that.
Trust that got lured,
in the early years' of building trust
wounded the soul, but didn't
touch the soul, where love died long ago.
Nevertheless, the insults inflicted
in every action and deed
right when a tap was opened
in the kitchen, and water splashing
on to the black granite and
unarranged books lying on the table.
The curry, should come well
or your performance lacks
in building love, where trust is
seduced, and yet life builds
it's own way-
as roses never bloom
where there aren't thorns.
And yet again, the endless
list of responsibilities, as
obligations are they.
She promised silence,
when she managed
there been no listeners
and her inner monologues
gifted her a promised land
of selfless pride, where she
was a dancer, a painter and a poet
leaving back mere obligations
and less responsibilities,
redesigning and recrafting herself.
© Parvathy Ramachandran
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