I Met A Woman,
With A Weird Sense Of Humor.
She Called Herself A Dry Leaf,
Falling Gracefully.
In A Humid Summer Morning,
She Burnt Those High Trees.
People Came,
With Bags Of Green,
Igniting The Fire,
Burning Even The Topmost Leaves.
Then Came The Rain,
And New Claims Were Made.
She Called Herself A Dry River,
Sleeping Silently.
In A Heavy Rainy Night,
She Burst Aggressively.
Sinking Below The Rice Field,
Flowing With The Cattle.
People Sang Seasonal Slang,
Power Fidgeted.
Then Came The Winter.
The Old Claim Was Forgotten,
Like That Seasonal Slang.
Power Gained Motion.
But Now She Made An Absurd Statement,
She Said,
‘Call Me That Poor Man’s Blanket.
Warming His Chest,
On This Cold-Hearted Night.
Burning His Throat,
In These Uncertain Times.’
But She Lied, Obviously,
Because There Laid That Old Man,
Still As A Statue,
Nothing Over His Bare Chest.
Ayush Sharma is just another boy next door, who laughs when happy, and writes with a heavy heart. Though he is pursuing physical science, he writes poetry as a hobby.
Quite a poem…But is there any hidden meaning behind this?
Quite a mysterious poem…??