Priya Yanambaka Poet Free verse

Symphony In Disharmony

Closed doors standing alone, 
Waited for their hearts to open,
To fear endless nights and believe the sinking sun,
Black and white faded over the ages,
Yet failed to capture color in flying pages,
When the numbers were busy and women danced hastily,
Every star cried in despair and vanished happily,
Into the smoke of forbidden shame,
With carvings and buried cravings, left to blame,
The stolen myth of a winter-cursed kingdom,
Where far away stood the tree of forgotten wisdom,
Blowing petals towards the symbols of innocence,
Remembering the growing depth and difference,
Between stories that echoed and lasted only once,
Closed doors standing alone,
Waited for their hearts to open,
To fear endless nights and believe the sinking sun.
It lay there still and silent,
Waiting for its audience to settle down,
Waiting for the shivering lines to straighten,
Within the boundaries of the floor,
To narrate a story
Of their fame, turning into gold,
Just like nights covered by spells and charms,
That last until digital breaths fade away into beeping alarms.
It lay there swirled and curled,
With tears waiting to sleep,
Embracing freedom blazing,
A crumpled tissue,
Sweeping the footprints he left behind,
And fall on the morning dew.

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