26/10/2007

A golden cage



A slender figure, decades old.
Sitting with her cage, made of gold.
Long dead eyes look out to see the sky.
But her sight is too blurred, for her to see by.
She waits for him with the letters cutched in her hand.
Waiting for the winged bird to come with like magical wand.
Her white cold hand touches the paper.
Ages old and decayed, like forget-me-nots they smoulder.
Turning into dust, valued at nitch.
She smiles as she wonders if her looks still bewitch.
Dreams in her dreams wearing the white wedding gown.
She tries to remember love as just a noun.
Spiders weaving cobwebby tale make home in her bosom.
A sad destiny indeed for a maid so lissom
Stares at the images on the wall, vision flickers.
Tomorrow she'll be gone with no trace; faith never wavers.
Waiting for him, she must,as she always had.
Letting not a tear fall, as promised to her lad.
The room is his, so are the letters.
But she lives there in her mind, bound by imaginary fetters.
For there is her mind- passion glows.
For there is that room emotions overflow.

4 comments:

A Poetess said...

thanks proffie for that wonderful comment..on a troublesome piece of poetry
I got ur message

Unknown said...

Hmm this poem reminded me of the condition of Estella of Great Expectation, and also Miss Havisson. The purity of the expression, and genuineness of the seggregation is intertwined. His absence is really clawing you.......Hmm

Debojyoti da

What's In A Name ? said...

The vivification is complete. The rhyming quotient is weak.

Keep posting!

Merry Christmas!

Nameless Fameless said...

my my ... why so sad... excellent but .. i wonder if its true .. ur sadness brings out the poet in u !! ...