Warm, parlous and fluent
Oozing out of my wrist
The swift slash of the knife
On the canvas of life
Made by myself, and then
Lying down I look at colors
Blinding all the cheerless
Yesterdays; and the mess
On the carpet starts to
Spread towards the cold floor
Where I lie, half awake
Twisting, like a hurt snake.
The color of your blood
It looks the same as mine
And we are but sisters
With the same pained blisters
Our lives are alike
With potholes on the road
To our aspirations
And our inspirations
Were the same, until I
Chose to give up, and you
Struggled on like that plant
Waiting for a transplant.
Rearranging itself
Our pain has the strangest
Of ways; to bring about
The hardest, darkest route
Leading to tomorrows
That may or may not come
And as I wait for those
Last moments to come close
I know I chose easy
Ways out of injuries
Standing alone, you still
Look for a life to till.
It is not the color
Of your blood and of mine
That can set us apart
But courage in our heart
Makes our souls different
From each other, like the
Sun and the moon; one shines
While the other- it whines
For some light to shed on
The face of the dark world
My lights are going out
And you shine all around.
