About the Writer

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Not so young Fashion Graduate From National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT), Delhi, India. Aspiring journalist. Amongst other eclectic hobbies, she likes writing and has written several poems and articles over her school and college life and now for a living. She would someday like to be be a more popular writer than just on her blogs. 'Tis a lady of grand splendor, who waketh in my bed every morning while the sun beckons her towards night...

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Loath

There must be some forgery,
Of the bruises that had once been.
Or have they just been swept under
Memories that do not heal.

‘Tis the mutiliation,
That threatens to wield again,
Masking itself in putrid malice,
And drag me back to their realms.

They come in the morns’
Lest there be suspicion,
Darkness is not afraid of the light,
I am.

While the star studded glorious night ends,
I go back to the cupboards,
To claw in more of you.
My reflections’ never seen,
My howls never heard,
Heard and ignored.

Dirt thrown into my empty grave,
And I, exhumed for my golden hair.

I wait for the dawn.
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