She jostled,
Muscled,
Captured her stance,
On her feet,
From the ceiling rod,
Conquered her space,
She did peek out,
Her face, the struggle,
Drops of labour,
Humid hours,
Her early summers,
In anger, did she pop-out,
From within bony branches of skin,
Claustrophobic forest of arms,
Worked out manly pits,
Stinky swamps,
Raged at my empty car,
The pulled-up glass,
Fumed at the lonely passenger within,
At him breathing air,
His ease,
Only fumes of sweat for her,
Could read her well,
Her lovelorn pretty face,
Unscalable walls of dignity,
Tightened as closely as her lips,
Doors of honor sealed,
Shut at strangers,
It was time to reach home,
Unlock before mom,
For now,
Love’s locked away in a trunk,
Swayed aside,
Hidden, for a while,
No feelings,not a song,
Only glimpses for me,
Couldn’t dare stare,
For long,
Her folded brows scoffed,scorned,
Spat challenges for the future,
Retinas meant for love,
Now, almost grumbled, abused,
Through windows of her panting bus,
Resting mid-way to my side,
Red’s the traffic-light…
Debaroon’2013
(image from fredbellomy.com)
feelings very deep. Very good writing
Lovely description.
just a super sketch of a microcosm of life. You do this very well, Deba. Your powers of observation are quite remarkable–especially that you can then transcribe what you observe. Bravo!