Scavenger-Time

 

Paler than Spring, plucked in the bud –  
my sorrow’s scepter stands
bathed in the slaughter
of a thousand crimson roses.

 

Darker than the darkest night’s brow –
the prairie of my mind is a phantom.
Will there be much left
to borrow from Life?
Hounds of Time wearing Horns
of Doom – lunge forward.

 

Take all that remains in my lap.
Then, Sleep! Sleep!
You too will bathe in the blood
of a thousand crimson roses.

 

14th January, 2000

                          


Geeta Chhabra


 
Geeta Chhabra Comment Form
Form a link. Comment inside the box below. Your views will be published in a coming edition.
Name:
 
Email:  
Comments: