Rising

July 12, 2015 by Usha Pisharody 6 Comments

A slash of Red –
Bled the paper.
Its flow stemmed
By harsh slanting
Scoring.

He’d scored too
Way below par.
He looked up at her
Who’d committed
The murder of his
Imagination.

And sighed.

He did agree
In principle.
But mourned the
Fatal wound
Stymied in lines
All black and blue, now Red.

But, by Jove!
By the Good Lord
(who he trusted no more)
He’d play God
And create a new one.

A free phoenix
That would rise
No matter what singed
His feathered flight of fancy.

A quiet, quelling, murderous
Look, her-wards
Through the screen of lowered lashes;
He turned the bleeding page;

Took up his sword
And marked a bold stroke
Under
Murder Most Foul

Etching in heartfelt angst
The travails of a blunt knife
Painfully keened and quickened-
To finally rise to its intended glory.

Realizing, in the crafting
(an unwelcome truth 😀 )
How it led right back
To himself.

Finding himself, he saw…

The knife sharpener, and the sparks
That lit her eyes.

😀

23 June, 2015 and 12 July, 2015

How some writes come, scribble themselves, then pause, till you find them and solve the riddle they pose for you 😀