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Aishwarya Chari Poem
Metamorphosis: a word for butterflies,
Said the science textbook in school,
Positive transformations connoted her young soul.
Age brought in a new realisation,
Life, a one-way road with two destinies,
The darker one a metamorphosis too.
The endlessly bleak days,
Dwindling success,
Slipping confidence,
Broken dreams,
The road to change now a narrow old bridge,
Fragile and frail to support her lofty dreams,
Permanency etched in this new route,
Metamorphosis it was; not a passing phase.
Yet, butterflies her eyes chose to see,
Bright pupils midst tear streaked face,
Light shone on the narrow bridge,
Carefully she lugged her weight.
The caterpillar crawled, awkward and slow,
The bridge creaked, threatening to break,
Yet held on to this struggle everyday,
Patiently trudging to the light ahead.
Metamorphosis, still a double-edged sword,
All her struggles could tip her either way,
Yet, she chose the route with pain,
Trying to metaphorse yet again.
She knew it was a story of win or die,
A second dark metamorphosis she wouldn't survive,
Yet this turnaround she chose,
To gloomy life, she refused to bend.
Cocoon she became, the saddest soul alive,
Tears became her appetite,
Broken she was in a thousand pieces,
Her delicate spirit a ruined mess.
The pain made her numb and weak,
Shallow breaths and fiery cheeks,
She closed her eyes, her bright pupils gleaming,
She felt her soul float, she felt existence cease.
But, most of all she felt her eyes open,
Her lips curved a natural smile.
Wings she bore as beautiful and delicate as her spirit,
Her body she felt, weightless and symmetric,
Effortlessly, she flew upwards,
Gliding through the wind, peaceful and sound.
Embodiment she now was, of beauty and success and all things gold.
Bleak fluorescent rooms a thing of the past,
The bridge her metamorphosis, the pain her badge of honour,
She knew it was her destiny, sweet success and enchanting beauty,
She wasn't made for this toil and grub.
Yet, that was her life, the struggles and the pain.
She was now, an angelic dream,
A lover's ballad, a sailor's home.
She was a child's wish, a fairy tale,
A land of exotic fruits, a colourful maze.
She was a drug, an elixir of life,
An ecstatic dream, a virgin queen.
She exists as immortal bliss,
Her scent seaming all earthly souls.
Copyright © Aishwarya Chari | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Aishwarya Chari Poem
Limbs move, face smiles,
Interactions begin and end on time,
Thoughts race, million at a time,
Sunrises turn to sunsets;
Days into nights,
But the soul is untouched for ages,
The smell of your t-shirt forgotten.
Your misty eyes a distant dream,
The color of your specs frame fading away
Sitting 1000 miles apart, I ignore your phone call
I ignore your text, clocking my umpteenth presentation
A piece of you breaks, yet again today
Rat race I call it, you call it living like rats,
Living my dream I say, you say leaving dreams behind.
Thus, two roads diverge, two hearts break,
One soul dies, yet another machine is made
Poetry emerges, slyly watching through a creak in the library door,
I rush and embrace as it reminds me of you.
I eagerly fill forms and interview like a machine I am,
Truth unrevealed, that the alchemy is within.
Iron turning gold is not a ’switch off’ button,
It is the smell of the flowers, the breath of fresh air
It is that hour long phone call, the butterflies in the stomach,
It is a long warm bath, it is an idle sleepy day.
Yet work I choose, with ‘switch on’ mode again,
The diverged roads I know, shall meet few miles away
Copyright © Aishwarya Chari | Year Posted 2017
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