The Widow

a poem by Srividya Krishnamoorthy

Broken bangles
Hacked off hair
Strewn vermilion

Unbeauty in persona
The stench of death
The soul shivers
Cold and wet

Mocking eyes that see unseen
The slow eroding
Of reality

The wails rise
As the body lifts
In the maze of memories
Eyes nervously sift

The child snatched away
The door tightly shut
The last vestige of
The cord is cut

Cast off sent away
She slowly sighs
Waits for another pain
Waits to die
Waits to die