Geeta's Poems

Creases

Innumerable lines
on an old woman’s face

like the engravings of some ancient race...
Folds - uncountable - in the clouds
that take new shapes

and disappear

to recur in the same place...
Crumpled lines
on a discarded piece

of written paper...
Creases
on the bed

after rising in morning...
All like portrayals of something that had once been...
...Indications

of vanished satisfactions,

vanished promises,

now long unseen...
The images of a broken mind,
expressions of crushed wishes

and expectations,

present all around

in an impersonal neglect

of conscious thoughts and strivings...
Creases of the unconscious -
attempts to rule out

disgust and disgrace.

****

{ Alone } { Where?... } { Evening } { The Touch of Your Hand } { The Moon }
{ Waiting } { To P... } { Your Fingers } { Stock-Taking }
{ Private Demons - I } { Private Demons - II } { A Resolution } { Questions } { Freedom to Be }
{ Relationships } { Sensations } { Death } { Life's Choices } { All for Love }
{ To You.. { After Life } { After the Storm - I } { After the Storm - II } { Self Discovery }
{ A Reassessment } { The Fall } { Anchorless } { To D... } { Peace }
{ Stray Poems } { The Morning After } { There are no Goodbyes... } { The Essence }

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