Sides to love..(to my grandmother)

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Image courtesy rebloggy.com via Google (painted by Leonid Afremov)

In the swirls of wine in your eyes,  

I could see love shine through-  

It had its tinges:

Each sand drop in hourglass;  

Reflecting off its surface,  

In a different tinge of red. 

Sometimes pure red glinting- 

Like the edge of a knife,  

That can cut if need be, 

Upon a tear in the rulebook. 

Those same swirls become blood red: 

When the smallest of thorns threatens harm,  

To my fragile shell trembling with naivety; 

It seethes with anger at those who advance,  

With their treacherous blades of jealousy.  

At times it transforms into a deep maroon,  

Puzzling the seekers around:  

With an air of a veiled sun, 

Which may or may not reveal-  

Its warmth divine.

On a cold winter morning,  

It melts into a crimson;  

Mirroring the victory dance-  

My universe does,  

When basking in their presence.  

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An elegy: To my Grandmother.

Image courtesy: shafe.co.uk

I miss her kind face among faces

I miss her voice warning in case

I lingered on the edge:

I barely learned dragging the sledge

when you left me bereft

You taught me all I have left

yet I know nothing of living

I need your light:

That shined bright

when all was dark

and shadows lurked

I miss your heart full of warmth

I miss the love you shed:uncouth

I was:you cared not.

I miss the long night when you slept

and I in your feet rubbing them

till you slept and long after

A moment worth milions twas

when you would wake up

caress my head and say

“Tu soyi nae beta”

Go sleep!

I miss the scent of your presence

I miss the warm hugs

There is no joy in your absence

No one to protect me from winds

cold and bitter;nipping:unkind

I miss the long talks in kitchen

lessons in cooking and in life

Every line is etched in my bones

Yet for my wantonness I may not atone

When they shriek at me now

My head silently bows

I have no saviour

Such is the hour

All turned sour

I miss the prayers

Your clothes are here

the smell is too

the photographs

are frozen

the smiles

the memories

are too much to take in

breathing trying I have been

No longer living I keen

Image courtesy: asearchforbeauty.blogspot.com