The Trap of Gold

By Aeshwarya Singh

Why don’t you let

Your cheeks turn wet,

With heavenly rain?

Release all the pain.

Don’t strangle your heart,

God’s own work of art.

You might fade away,

For you, I shall pray.

Hold on to the very last bits of sunshine,

Your foggy woodland of gloom shall be mine.

My cuckoo awaits your cage of gold,

She dreams of the trap, ever so cold.

Inevitably, she creeps inside

The gold enclosure, where you once cried

Your tears of pearls, my forest elf.

You sat and wept and called for help.

By Aeshwarya Singh