A Superstitious Reflection
The water was quiet
Like the world had folded into one slippery cloth
With moist air dragged by some unknown power
The origin had never been known
Of this deep bowl of blue.
My fingers never reached the shallowest sand
Where the damp wind touched the naked earth
My face with every detail
Was carved in this transparent wood
By an anonymous painter with brushes
Invented from somewhere above.
The blend of colors were mixed in shape
My hair that were just a bundle of ropes emerging from the dark
Interlocked with my forehead
Like a brown sheet left forgotten by the dancer.
My speech had a source, which pierced through a crack in the face
Guarded by thirty two white blood hounds
And a slimy python.
Suddenly a piece of earth
A pebble of such fine mould
Fainted into the translucent sheet
Which protected the Piscean empire underneath.
The painting that was behind a thin red line
Between superstition and reality
Broke into the brackish water.
The carved wood was lost
The artist had erased what he had created-
An image seemed so true
But was indeed such a simple lie.
Copyright © Soha Sukku | Year Posted 2005
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