There she sits, Maria
sunk low in her chair,
swaying to the tune of silence,
gazing at the paddy fields.
There she sits, Maria
smelling like frayed brown books of literature - hardbound,
like dusty old furniture,
like tea roses and talcum.
There she sits, Maria
no more a lover, a wife and a mother -
just a woman,
smiling like a flower about to wither.
4 comments:
Nice poem. Loved all the metaphors.
Thank you :)
I enjoyed the imagery:
smelling like frayed brown books of literature - hardbound,
like dusty old furniture,
like tea roses and talcum
I could smell the books, I felt the swaying of the chair. Very well written and a joy to read! :)
Thank you very much, Scott.
It's lovely to get such reviews from a budding novelist such as you :)
Good luck!
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