The Autobiography Of A Woman

By Anika Rajvanshi

Love me for who I was,

Love me for who I am,

Love me for who I will be.

For I was just a mere seed,

That was once carried by a lonely bee.

Sowed down in a place unknown,

Always learning to grow alone.

How can you hate my bud so soon?

When you haven’t even seen me bloom.

Blood that runs through my veins,

Paints my petals with longing.

For a love that never taints,

My flowering youth from glowing. 

I wait as the sun drowns in an ocean of orange and red,

I wait as the moon fades in a grave of stars that are now all dead,

I wait as the ground is buried in a thick blanket of snow,

Have I longed enough? For all my roots to grow.

Soon enough you came,

Looking with your wandering eyes.

And confessed your love,

Hiding your sins in a bouquet of lies.

As years pass,

I reside in a lovely vase,

Made of tinted glass.

Time spins a web of its own,

Of our loving daze and our fading grace.

Then one day,

Water isn’t enough,

To keep my dying heart at bay.

All beauty succumbs to death,

As I take my final breath. 

Is love enough to colour my withering tomb?

For all is left of me is dust,

That you once called your own.

Now I have seen the worst,

Your love for me turned to stone.

My lovely vase now replaced,

People come and go,

But only you remembered, 

The way in the wind I swayed long ago.

By Anika Rajvanshi