Torn and Broken

So I was hearing the mumble

of a stack of clothes

from the corner of an unvarnished,

older room, of my great grandparents.

All at once

I found them beguiling

and wanted to wear them out.

I stepped towards it,

to catch their talk.

One was weeping

and the other was in vex.

Remaining laid down dispassionate.

They had many stories to tell..

the same but of varying pain.

Stories of sore orgasms and of

bloody marks on bare breasts

of the body, once they bedecked.

Now they are torn apart,

no more could they adorn her.

May be she too is torn apart..

But I could find no figure of her.

Wonder who she is

and where she went..

My ancestral home

is numb now.

And I was searching for her..

Time has slipped from

seconds to hours

And still my ancestral home

is numb.

From the other corner,

a broken glass mirror

was laughing loud.

Now I stepped towards

the laughing glass mirror

who showed me

the figure, whom I was searching for.

Drooping blood from my

damaged lips taunted from

the shattered howling mirror.

A demented laugher from me,

cried out insanely, saying

I found her.

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