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You may have known her as fable or fiction
But she was as real as deep blue oceans
And glorious dawns of rising golden sun;

Not quite blessed with grace of humanity
Hurting miserably in wounded dark alleys--
One among many--misdeeds of destiny
Trapped within inescapable pathos of society.

Like summer storms that churn hazy winds
And sound of glum-thunder ignites lightening,
Formidable was trauma of her throbbing beats
Haunting heart sorrowful, wistful, and lonely
Each time she looked up and dared to breathe.

Silently she stood there at gate of misery
Solitary like a tombstone no one ever visits;
A mother, a sister, a daughter, a homemaker
In plain sight on some corners of the world
Where echoes of quietude often got ignored. 

Hurting miserably in wounded dark alleys,
Solitary like a tombstone no one ever visits,
Silently she stood there at gate of misery;
Face of the faceless --she was Eleanor Rigby.

August 13, 2019
Eleanor Rigby Who Was She Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jerry T Curtis

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