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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