AMBROSIA

I relish the taste of sweetness.

Strawberry scented

The sweet sensation of something delectable.

An agreeable experience.



Instead i have this acidic aftertaste in my mouth,

Climbing from my veins and in to my throat.

Why did you have to be so jaded?

EBONY

Ebony is about a woman's love-hate relationship with her body, her hair in particular. I'd know. I used to shave my hair every time the things i wanted to go my way didn't work out i.e. until i grew locks. I have my moments when i desperately want to cut them but the urge to fling them around like a mad woman always wins the day. So that's how I've managed to keep them for so long-eight years to be precise. It's been a beautiful journey. I've found ways of releasing my anger and frustrations which doesn't involve shaving my hair or mutilating my body lol. Hope this sheds some light to this piece.

There once was a woman

Her glory was falling

Falling.

The woman and her glory, falling

Fallen.

Her sigh of defeat grew silent ,

but not the spirit of her defiant nature.

She knew it was far from over.

She lies but never dies.

She had a lot of fire in her,

a lot of fight still left within her.

Her glory was falling.

Shimmering, colossal, mass of black

Ebony wool fallen.

How it glimmered in the hot sun

You could tell from a distance.

Beautiful, just like her

RESILIENT

spirit.

The world around her is a sham.

Ugly.

I saw through her secret ritual.

Purging her soul of the ugliness.

Cleansed.

Her black wool, lying in the stillness beside her.

Her heart started to bleed as she quietly gazed at her glory.

Then,

A ray of light fell upon her smoldering, black, olive eyes.

I could see her tears now,

rolling down unto

the ebony wool,

Next to her bare feet.

She lifted her smooth hands and gently stroked her fallen glory.

A tiny smile started to crease her round face.

Sated,

She lay claim to her peace.

This , her sacrifice.

Crashed.
Resolve not to hope for the hopeless
Decide not to love the unlovable.
Receive with part gratitude, part skepticism.
Regret the unsaid and
Relive the past when dreams seemed possible to achieve.....

AWAKEN!
Then live. and let live.

THE MEMOIRS OF A BROKEN HEART.

STORIES OF A NEW BORN.

Is what I've heard loud and clear?
All these stories collecting in my ear
of a new born child
That didn't involve the warmth of my womb.
Just that paltry manhood
You like to justify your existence with.
I am beguiled of strength to
Insult you,
Tempted to scratch your flashy car,
Tear at those inflated tires and finally,
Attempt to
Inflict you with
Bodily harm
Only reserved for adulterous scoundrels
such as yourself.


Revenge should amount to anguish
Relatively proportionate
To all the pain and misery you've put me through.
The desire to unleash
The rage enclosed in my rib cage ,
At how much time
It took to uncover this ruse
Suddenly,
Overwhelms my senses.


Is this where you live my dear-
A majestic abode which remains ,
Unfurnished by
My time tested, womanly embrace?
No time to usher me in.


My fiery-
Thigh rubbing
Tongue twirling,
Body meshing -Love,
You decline.

Turn and look around you!
Yeah it's me,
Whose heart once bled for you.
Whose peace washed away for yours.
Whose love you merrily pissed on!
Today ,
YOU delicately whisper into my ear
Of how many nights you've spent in distress,
Soiled by regret recalling:
How,
Once-upon-a-time,
This lovely flower
This superstar fantasy
with her timeless allure,
Would have sacrificed her all ,
for you
But you long missed the boat.


Finally I pause and ponder- Sella!
I suppose my future self
is relieved from fatigue;
All that yelling through the time machine ,
"It's HIS loss not yours" she proclaims.
True,
What, I wonder, did I ever see in you to begin with?


THE END.