A FINE ART IN THE MAKING

A fine art in the making

By Suveeksha Viswanathan

Like how a man feigning silence-

A masquerade,

Knows his intentions the best.

A God-fearing mongrel

Treading on thin ice,

A fine art becomes.

Her eyes like pendulum swings,

O’er the vales of human guile,

Insinuating what had become of.

Feigning silence-them,

Not so long ago,

Family and friends.

Plundered and desolate,

Feeble, weary,

The naked truth like a sea of needles

Prickled her.

Opened wide,

The metal gates of her heart,

All in her outcast state.

Walking through,

Her mum and her beloved dog.

Perhaps by then,

Yearning she was,

For her heart to be jostled.

In came,

A politician, a herder,

Just behind him-

A herd of sheep.

(Something resonates!)

The bells in heaven chime,

The incongruous reality in a

Deafening silence.

Broken promises,

Broken trust.

Exploited in every way,

Wounds inflicted upon her battered soul.

Racing down blind alleys,

Her mind,

Thoughts she never imagined of

treading before.

When silence an escape meant,

But the chidings of her heart.

Bless the liquefaction of her emotions,

Her mum’s will and her dog’s rosy nose.

With the strength she never knew she had,

Binding her heart.

With fate tagging along,

And her perpetrators caught.

Soldered, welded,

A perfectly chiseled mortise.

Like an antique piece,

Against the test of time.

A fine art she became,

In the making.