posted in: Poem - English | 0

The loose tress dangling to the curves of her hips,

The half-broken glass bangles on her flat slimy hands,

She steads around the house,

Not with charm, nor with smile, neither with gait,

But like the flames of fire under the roof of the house

Dancing with rage.

The heat and vibes flung in the air.

Even the trickles down her cheeks, reluctant to cross her chins,

Perhaps she has control over them

Trickles not of torments nor of disdains,

But of the secret desire of manipulation.

Her lips twirled when she spoke of her sacrifices,

Her arms and bosom paved its way, with the rhythmic motion of her thumps.

Her tress still dangling to the curves of her hips.

Her eyes were wet, sometimes she closed them tight

Enunciating the stubbornness of her manipulation.

She was dancing with fury unlike the goddess Durga to vanish the evil

She was dancing with fury, unable to curb her secret obsession of manipulation.

Name : kripa kb

Company Name : EY

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