A Lie to Die?
My feet dangling in the gloomy yet lively
Perpetual darkish waters,
I was on the edge, scribbling away
The odyssey of my decade and a half old life.
I'd unwavered from my firm decision
To jump off unaided and fling my emotions
As a suicide note,
Perhaps, a memory for those chanting dirges to me.
The melancholia of my recollecting memoirs
In blue and grey elflocks,
Teared up a deeper abyss than that of
The haven of my afterlife.
The first triplet would bring a smile
To even a stone hearted devil,
After all, it encased my first wailings and wins,
Not to mention my mom's daily heartfelt caressing.
The succeeding cinquain was giggling with glee
Dearth of depression, decisiveness and dents in the heart,
Felt so ethereal to the knackered and fractured me while
The quill I once wrote the ABC's with was now my death-quill, piercing me further.
The following limerick was wet by tears too ambivalent,
Acquaintances and comrades so amusing, accompanying
My first farewell so lachrymose,
Had I known an eternity would follow.
The last couplet of my fifteen-lined autobiography,
Was the genesis of the once tranquil waters
Metamorphosing into my deathbed
Soon to be salty with laments and laughter.
I'd lost my soulmate, my sister,
My punching bag, my pillow I dreamt on
The shoulder I wet weeping,
The optimistic half of my soul.
Yeah we were mere friends,
Daydreaming of decades of delightful yet delicate
Years together, maybe till we were grandmas,
Penning our daydreams into poems of verve.
We aspired to be each other's twinkling lights,
Twinkling in the darkest wells of melancholy,
Yet we gave innumerable lectures to each other,
To be our own lights for those minutes of isolation.
Then came months of what seemed an eternity of isolation,
We spent unremitting uhtceare,
Pondering whether we could ever
Pat each other's shoulders again.
To the world we personified friendship,
But to each other we were the only
Dandelions in the desert,
Forever swaying benevolently.
Like a blooming rose
Like scattering cherry blossoms in tranquil pink hues,
Like the waning cockcrow blush,
Like that winsome moment.
But even roses have thorns,
Hers plucked my heart,
Ripping it apart it into two,
One dead and one about to be dead.
My dandelion was taken away by the sandstorm.
It came for me too,
But her firm command to be my own light hooked me deeper,
And as always it was me who obliged and she being scatterbrained.