Nitika Singh | + Follow Poet |
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A Drop

Deep in a dark cavern,
where dove morphs to raven
and flawless white it flaunts,
sullied in grim darkness
in that cave's chest,
i swell from a deep well

the source cursed,
not chilled bergs,
not gaping clouds
nay! not even a dancin' fount'

and on kissing an ebony lash,
dissipates damp
drenching the rest,
down i roll
on the gleaming hide,
burnin' in anguish's flames

not a dew on crimson petal, 
nay! not even a surging vapour

and deep in pale furrow, 
i flow,carrying all gloom
not a narrow creek,
not the turbid rivulet
nay! not even a brook

so i fall down,times maroon,
in days of forlorn
no thirsty land quench, 
no mighty ocean feeds 
nay! not fills even a poor pit

and the land remains barren,
no foliage, no seed sprouts
take no pain,
nay! not a sprinkle to kill the drought

i rise from cocktail of
despair and melancholy
a salty lemonade of 
fresh wound and aged agony

the rage boils up,
sadness tames into a drop
and i arise charring my source, 
swollen and drinking sorrows
soaking linen,
filling the wool 
or at best a soft pillow

yes,you know me dear,
i'm a drop of tear!

Copyright © Nitika Singh | Year Posted 2017

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