Remembrance by Tripta Chandola SignUp
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Remembrance
by Tripta Chandola
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  In the purple haze
that your memory
has curled itself
in;

I reach out to the
long, delicate
slightly punctured
hands,
which you called
love.

In love.
through the
linings of your
transparent skin,
I bend;
merge and murder.

Washing of the stains
I stumble upon
Myself;
scarred and scared.

I nurse,
the wounds.

Share This:
October 24, 2004
More By: Tripta Chandola
Views: 967      Comments: 1

Comments on this Poem

Comment Hi,

Are you the Tripta I know from Ranikhet?

Ankit
03/23/2011 15:26 PM




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