Her Misery As A Mistress

By Disha Ransingh

Somehow the sand in her hourglass almost stopped falling,

the second her first needle pricked her arms with a blood drop falling,

Soon she knew the needle wasn’t anything but a wondrous wand

that turned her daily drought into fields of a heaven’s country land,

But she wasn’t aware, a single needle was just stabs of a thousand knives

And that heaven wasn’t heaven at all, but just a hoax of hell for a lifetime

Then she knew but also didn’t, that she no more picked the drugs she had hoarded

For the drugs picked her like they picked the strings of her soul’s puppet

Certainly, she had seen the glimmer of her son’s eyes turn to gloom

as he saw and smelled the powders and syringes in her mother’s room

and left him to sit in neighbor’s hall as she drove miles for her drugs to consume

She was haunted too, as the reflection in the mirror wasn’t of her at all

But a phantom who steals her body, every time she lets the drugs to rule

and a misery as a mistress and mother in her wounded heart’s howl

Nevertheless, nothing ever stopped her veins from carrying the drug

Cause it was her hesitation and want ever mightier than the addiction that struck

Miraculously, then with a flash the lock broke of the cage she was in,

the moment her son didn’t trust her mother’s hug and who she had been

for his face always dropped when people said her mother does a sin

From then on, she took her baggage all the way to a rehab

where she saw a stranger’s teardrops of the same color as she had

Slowly the sky changed and so did she as the hardest thing was to try a bit

and when one hand held the syringe, and the other held on to stop it

And now almost a decade has passed, she’s clean and her soul her is back

but when she watches her skin, it still has those faint needle scars

and it reminds her of how the silvery shiny needle was just grey to her life’s stars.

By Disha Ransingh