Riven Attire

 

Riven Attire

What is left of us?

If not love,

If not the warmth of a rusted heart,

If not remorse for our darkest parts

If not a tender flame on verge

Vulnerable, yearning for a little urge.

If not the consuming guilt,

If not the hearts rebuilt.

It is –

The early delight of merging skies

Orange purple and blues arise.

The streets of hustle and bustle

At each corner a heap of lies;

Crossing the dark lanes empty of life.

At the end of the day,

When the wind’s ablaze

Strands of hair on the lips -

I gaze afar, feet on the porch,

Beside the flame vines showering down.

There’s an absence aloud

The vines burning more -

And more, for some feed

Or on someone to bleed.

The fire caught my veins

I couldn’t stop bleeding,

But nothing could absorb the bloody red

Nothing could fathom the tears shed.

 

Riddhi Chakraborty