Frozen fingers put fire
On golden letters pyre
Broken bangles, sleeping anklets
Ah ! first flavour, the heart melts
Garlands of blue gems
Losing glow and names
Flames prisoned white bride
And burns her jewels and pride.
Dreams drowned in blue brooks
An innocent criminal wipes proofs
Of tasting forbidden fruit
And notes of a stranger's flute.
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Author:
Priya Tomar (
Offline) - Published: August 18th, 2025 12:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 32
- Users favorite of this poem: arqios, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
Your poetry has that breath where I find the burning words of those cursed poets my brothers .
Now they find a kind reader.
Thanks
I may be reaching too far here but to me this poem brings images of Indian tradition, of innocent violation, purification by the burning with fire. So many symbolic images here. We are all in some ways burned by tradition being placed on its pyre. Lovely and a fave
Yes, you're right.
I'm glad you find it lovely.
Somehow brings to mind Hamelin and a sort of pied piper; surely a Fave🙏🏻🕊
I'm not aware of this story or literary creation . I'm glad you found the legend in my broken rhymes.
Thanks for fave, much appreciated
Most welcome Priya🕊️🙏🏻
A powerful piece, Priya. The bangles, anklets, and flute all carry such weight, turned fragile in the fire. You’ve woven sorrow and beauty together seamlessly. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thanks for fave, much appreciated
You are most welcome!
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