Flower decked, trailing vines
words borrowed from wisdom’s store
I perch there briefly
to rest, to find the next shore.
Pointed barbs, torn wounds, gaping insults
Driving cars onto mangled, mutilated limbs
A glance, a vain hope
to see specks of positivity
If no, then I flee.
Waves,lapping at my feet,
drawing me in gently at first
and then with a silent roar
No legs beneath my floating form
dashing me against every rock, I pretend not to see
Breath knocked out, I flop over them
wanly gasping inadequate responses.
Bossy décor, brassy paints, loud tongues
Exclamations of newly- discovered, boring truths
gifting, thrusting into others’ spaces
looking for gaps
and rushing in to hang their stuff
I rebound and whitewash mine
till it blends into their white lies
They no longer can spot it.
©Reena Prasad 4rth November 2012