Her Impression

By Md Farhan Khan

She was red,

Red like rose, that bled,

Of scarlet blood that was shed,

It dressed her,

A marriage dress.

A rose when she bloomed,

A rose with thorns,

Sharpen incisions-

On her lover.

Piercing me as I moved near to her.

Her touch like the red petal,

It caresses me, gently.

Her smile like blooming petals,

It entrances, a poor soul like mine.

A road to an abyss undefinite,

Of the end, lies a dead caregiver,

A visage, acted as a mirror.

A trap of greatest caliber

Oh, to be her lover.

A rose, she was.

Mostly for her thorns,

Every action- an incision,

Every gaze-piercing.

Every lie-a new slicing.

She was dressed,

With a bloody gauze,

Hiding the sharp scissors,

Fate’s cleaver.

Taking up all of my vision.

Every flutter, a new divider,

To the flesh of lover.

Her dress woven of blood from my incision,

Of her touching, of my bleeding.

She cursed her blessings,

“Bleed hither, oh lovely dreamer”.

Danced her, with flowy dress of river,

Rivers- made up of bleeding blood of her lover.

To mesmerise, except not her lover.

To behold the world, not her caregiver.

Severing our fate with scissors,

My love’s adoration, and my destructor.

The wonderful creator,

Of ruin and happiness’ undoer.

By Md Farhan Khan