Saturday 20 February 2016

Poetry 2016 Featured Garima Behal


Termites gnawing at wood, the never ending pain
of unspoken poetry
                                   (chipping away)
buried like breath
stilled beneath
                                   layers and layers
                                   and layers and   
                                    layers of layers  
of death, in a grave
                 discarded even by guardian angels...

The loss
      of wings, and halos, and hope
      and faith, and prayer, and good times
                         spread like the remnants of b-r-o-k-e-n china-

an effort to piece it all together
against the thumping walls of my heart
                                in jagged edges
                                piercing the valves;
                fountains of blood, blood-red,
                tumble out of white wrist razor marks.

The onslaught of thought.
Termites crawling over a discarded grave.
       Termites chewing at my brain.
                 Termites gnawing at wood –
                                                    this never ending pain. 

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