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Yansima—Reflections of an untainted soul

It was a cascading fall of the dark sky,
Tresses falling like a veil just before her eyes.
Two wisps of black arches forming her brows,
Under which shone two bright light source;

They were the reflections of an untainted soul.
And they called her Yansima.

The coal lining the calm eyes was smudged
The cheap red lipstick all smeared.
The scarlett hue of the apple cheeks discolored.
Yet amidst the dynamics of the body
The numbness of the mind undisturbed.

The vocal chords did not vibrate
But the loveless vibrations of the body
Broke the heart into many pieces
Yet the mind remained still and numbed were all senses.

A soft pair of lips greeted the rough surge of desire.
And an interplay of fingers arousing a burning fire.
The last bit of artificial dignity unzipped and thrown
Her clothes falling off, like the body carelessly torn.

The lids covered the eyes, saving her from an unholy scene
The outside expression was never the image of what went on within.
In the mind flashed life's episodes and a thousand thoughts
While an unknown body fell flaccid, sweating and hot.

The garb over the soul, the body was tainted,
Accumulating years of irreverence and sacrilege;
Living in the glitz of sins well disguised and painted,
A living hell preserving life by the power of Hope's solace.

At first the flesh cried out in pain and went unheard,
Then the body revolted and the voice cried out.
When the world became deaf, the mind chose to be calm and said,
"Let your eyes witness everything yet do nothing but wait."

So her lips moved to the rhythm of passion
And she voiced the sounds like a goddess of  temptation;
The body forming welcoming curves to survive through the night,
The emotions showed nothing but reflections of hate and spite.

As the first waves of pain had begun to adjust,
There were shouting outside the door with sounds of swear and spit,
Her first customer was satisfied and leaving . . .
She opened her palm to find a hundred rupee note in it.

The next came in and remarked “how untouched you look
The look in those dark caverns are the essence of your beauty and charisma”

“Well it expresses the reflections of an untainted soul.
And so I have been named Yansima.”


The serene soul wondered silently . . .

 

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Kriti writes, “I am a struggling writer with my mind full of plots and stories gradually finding their place on the pages of my white notebook. They are all asleep and I don't know when they will wake up. So to add dreams to their long slumber . . . I am writing a few poems dedicated to my very own characters . . . which give life to my well planned words.”