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Her
at the age of 7,
the naive paradise
recreating the panorama
an illusion
along the vacant canvas
our own
“once upon a time…”
at the age of 8,
frayed hair
tangled with the murmurs,
whispers under woven curtains on sultry days,
bliss blistering guilt-ridden shadows
stalking, suffering, starving
still pondering:
what were we?
at the age of 9,
out at dusk catching fireflies
flickering amidst our glistening fingers,
lights - off, on, off, on
one in the cup of my hands,
another in Hers
one nestled, burrowing in the shallow creases of pale palms,
another confined, held hostage:
whose was whose?
at the age of 10,
two roads diverged
one into a meadow,
unadulterated,
another into the wild forest,
brambles piercing the skin
your bare ankles bearing the weight
fractals of crystalline tears
embellishing the frigid path of oblivion,
or was it ignorance?
at the age of 11,
the slow fading of a persona
buried beneath pursed lips
laden with undisclosed stories
the steel armor of your mahogany eyes
sunburned, beaten hazel
pooling into the raven hell of the Styx
remnants of red scars
wreathed in flames
blemishes blossoming into tantalizing whirlpools
of self-abhorrence
at the age of 12,
she clung to the ladder
ascending to the stars
desperation swarming
unfathomable sentiments encircling
the futility, the absence, the desolation
she wanted to leave
amidst sinful trades with the devil
hellish brutes and formidable ambitions
whipping gales of unsettlement
hushed whimpers, silenced yearns for salvation
who was she?
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