When one spills poetry with her ink
All others think the sky to her is pink
Or that she inhales air to exhale stars,
Out in another world without lighting cigars
For who would blame their wits if I may ask?
With the ink of her bodkin she can immask
Anything pale with a swirl of colour
And bear a crown for her mystical valour.
She’s wild when she metaphors a candle
For a ruined, shamed bride; I’ll let you handle
That thought. She’s a deathless roaring fire
If she can cloak a stone with magical attire.
She’s no different but she thinks different
She’s not loved different but she loves different
She’s shown nothing different but she sees different
She is a she. That hits you different.
She may be amongst beautiful, fragile bubbles
Snug as a bug in a rug of paper crumples
With a questionable glass of rich fine wine
Spoiling her. But her magic continues to shine.
Pratheeksha Susan Jacob
About The Author
One thought on “She – Pratheeksha Susan Jacob”
Yes…. She has always been different.
Your style your topics your thoughts are always unique. Let your thoughts flow through your pen for many to enjoy your uniqueness.