Mar 9, 2012

A dip

The river’s garment,
A shimmer exquisite,
As was the sky’s skin,
By the sun’s rays.

Ripples that cascade,
By her white cloth, they collide.
Tiny droplets they drip,
From the tip of her nose,
To her aching bosom.

The drapes embrace,
Her painful longing.
Holy waters,
She dips again.

Cleansing off thoughts,
Classified murky.
Washing away desires,
Considered lecherous.

With every sunrise,
They dwindle.

Millions of droplets,
Have fallen,
From the tip of her nose,
now wrinkled,
To her aching bosom,
now sagging.

What of her aching bosom?
Memories of desires they hold, 
of an infant that once feasted, 
of a husband who once rested.
All compounded into earth’s bosom.

Inspiration : A picture I saw posted in my company album.
Image source :

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