No Home for My Poem…

cut me open

there’s no blood

left to spill

veins will only squirt

dejected hopes

rip me limb to limb

only words will tumble forth

stories waiting to escape

will find their way out

to the hearts of those

who doubted

disbelieved

and when I am dead

my parodies will sing for me

because in living

there’s no consolation

no prams for those babies

there’s not one roof

no home for my poem

there’s not one heart

that will peek into

this hardbound soul

and hug them

like one returned

after taking a lost road

~~~~~

Asha Seth

27 Replies to “No Home for My Poem…”

  1. Guess after reading following lines came.to mind …
    They ripped her apart off all commas and stops ,
    All the capitals were coerced to lower their case ….😉
    But really good one. Your thoughts have a tinge of anxiety over some loss. Why so ?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Now that sparks cues for another piece that I may work upon soon.
      The answer to your question is perhaps yes, perhaps no. I can’t put a finger to it.
      Guess it’s stemming from a feeling where you don’t feel belonging where you are striving to be.

      Like

“I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.” ― James A. Michener

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