Delusions in the mirror,
Blood-smeared frames,
Caught his fancy,
Often.
And yet the brush lay
Unused, dry and colorless.
Lost in a delirium,
Counting his last pennies,
As a mellow tune
Drummed his ears,
He wondered sadly,
Was this the death knell?
Darkness filled his world.
As this picture was unraveled,
His dilapidated world came alive.
Onlookers gasped,
And she won her prize.
Her eye made his life,
A reverence.
- Janvi Gandhi
Janvi.87@gmail.com
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1 comment:
Though I have always liked your unique style of writing a poem, I guess, you are getting a bit repetitive with the form and structure.
I, somehow, did not quite enjoy this one as much as some of your previous ones that printed an impression on my mind.
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