Waiting is
all there is
before the
shrivelled corpses
of flowers
thrown upon
my grave
bloom again…

Heartless relatives
moan in
crocodile tears
for me but
I know
how little
they had
ever cared
from the
way they
trampled my
dreams with
their
vicious tongues.

They turned
a blind eye
to my bleeding
pangs… a muted
echo of my
crumbling, tormented
inner self.

My soul
lies frozen in
this grave
but I am
still waiting
… shadows of
another birth
beckon.

I shall
take birth
again, I know
so that
I can love, truly,
all over again.

I know