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Lifecycle

Poetry By: arun
Poetry



This one is posted for Christian Taylor's 3rd season of Poetry factor.
Written in a freestyle, this poem satisfies the criteria of using the words hope, freedom, ascend, destiny and truth.


Submitted:Dec 11, 2012    Reads: 26    Comments: 6    Likes: 3   


LIFECYCLE

A tone of truth, of hope is heard;

shrill and pure in its form;

was declared, that a life has come fast

to this blue planet; waiting to meet its destiny.

Cries the voice, witnessing freedom, at last;

Will not settle now, its breath, for free it is now.

Reactions mixed and varied, colourful and indifferent,

from that morbid hospital room emanated, ascending

into high sky, affecting the air;

a few hearts afloat, many lost hopes;

one pair of eyes closed, exhausted and unconscious,

hearing not any of the outside comments, rash and posh.

"Would have been better if the other way around,"

ascend their dialogues. The freedom of speech!

The start is always the toughest, thought she,

after waking up, full of hopes; battling destiny.

Crawls, stumbles, runs, burns, pains, learns the child,

day by day growing towards destiny, in hope, by truth.

Benumbed by fake promises of freedom, sarcasm

in full lengths running, hope only to cling to,

into numbers-age they name it-she ascends.

To say, there is plenty; to share is one peculiar joy:

The time has come, the glory shines, the news exciting,

for you, for her, for the world, for yonder skies,

sudden as a flash, happiness piling up, realised

she, her power; it occurred, she knows not how or why.

The language claims the event to be called puberty;

more of a divine show, a flower's blossom, rise of sun.

Marked as an important event of her living; her hopes

ascended to heights;

Alas! The truth is along came restrictions to her freedom.

Fate, is this what they call as? she asks.

Allowed not she is to pursue her destiny:

For, a refractory, it would brand her.

"Wherein lay my freedom?" the hapless bird screams.

She laments, she wails, she languishes, stressed out.

Society, that which should embrace, suffocates her;

her dream, fashion industry, is seen down.

Hope disappeared not, for she believed

her better half would support.

Alas! Destiny of hers diverted and pushed her onto thorns;

The most important event, they categorize it, in a woman's life,

time for that has come, they said and did;

her freedom was muffled again; not a decibel allowed.

Like the beauty with which pigeons ascend the skies, raced

her heart, too, in hopes.

A parrot being transferred to a new cage.

But alas again!

A modern slave, pay-less servant, that's what she has become.

Goddess of Truth shuts her eyes; and, freedom, too, hides its face.

"Is this what I came here for? Was this my destiny?" She asks god.

A year passes in this painful routine; comes the glorious news:

They call this the divine moment of a woman's life!

Bearing a child.

Excited to extremities, everyone is;

somehow her toils mitigated not.

destiny, freedom, hope, truth, all such adjectives

ascend into her attic,

never to be disturbed again; never to be seen again.

Days roll by and her bulge goes high; the D-day arrives;

meticulous, the process was to physician, and her, too.

Finally, it happened!

A tone of truth, of hope is heard;

shrill and pure in its form;

was declared, that a life has come fast

to this blue planet; waiting to meet its destiny.





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