Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Rift of the Magi

He walked in through the main door,
“Unbolted?” he wondered.
An ebbing shade of brown painted layer,
The polish on the door, dulled.

A poor man’s residence,
Deplumed sofa covers,
Sidestepped since the past three years.
The chewed up walls, unrepaired.

Jim heard the church bells chime
Music!
Yes, music was assigned to be his steps to fame.
Music at which his bosom would blink!

This was not how it was meant to be –
He was not to lose the music in him
To the dingy clamor and rattle of whizzing cars
And the cheerless chatter of noisy mechanics.

On peeling off the apparel of fetters,
And dressing herself in the robe of her dreams,
Della walked in to a dance class,
To live life on her own.

“Leave your dreams for your love, Della”
Jim, a strange shielding mistrustful lover,
And Della, a mirror of foolish fondness,
“If that is what you wish, dear”

She had planned life differently,
To dance her way to Rome, Venice, Italy.
Love carefully plucked out every feather
That clothed the bird yielding body to her dreams.

Today she left Jim,
She left love,
She left to build her wishes,
And spew life into the bloodied carcass of her fancies.

Along with flouting love,
Not love, but custom,
Della returned Jim his freedom
And seized from him her own.


Marriage and making money,
That had throttled their dreams,
Della eased the grasp,
The grasp of cohabitation.

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