The Pearls of Catharsis Times Issue 03, Feb 2017 | Page 6

RESURRECTION

A heap of degenerating waste. Waste, is it? The occupied existence cannot discern. Used, scraped, vilified- perhaps by the drunken father ' s drub or the servile mother ' s subjugation or the prejudiced society ' s molestation.

Or, can it be the shrewd lover ' s(?) contorted brow and bitterly ironic smile before departing from what was supposed to be the ultimate abode? The day when the crisp white shirt was tainted by soot of avarice, the everexpectant seedling was stepped upon by the heavy boots, the keen edges of the mirror quenched its thirst by the oozing blood- has been gulped zeal fully by the monstrous hunger of oblivion.

All that manages to linger about is the descent of the friable dried leaf, the heavy indolent steps in the dreary and barren bungalow, the exasperated mother ' s futile scream while she witnessed her daughter ' s final fall from that cliff.

Then, the dwindling sunbeam gets radiant one day, stars peep through that sombre black quilt again, lips start quivering, eyes descry through obscured vision, phoenix rises from that crumbled throng of worthlessness- ignited by the sun- it rises and flies aloft and disappears into the blue...

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