The Murky Rain: Attempting a roseate sonnet

 

The little girl slices through the deep blue blush, the rain tears the clouds asunder

Beneath the flickering street light, her thin frame bursts in a hungry deluge.

Moored in the murky edges of the city, where the night traffic diminishes,

In the rain waters she unbuckles, finds her refuge.

 

Strands of her hair misplaced, she had sold framed photos of goddesses

Her bony body swimming through the unending vortex of urban vehicles.

The traffic honked, washed ashore the practiced voices of denial,

A middle-aged woman stopped the car, called her inside in unknown syllables.

 

Inside the damp walls of the unknown ‘home’, voices, flesh and bones

Crisscross, sex-starved beings haunt and whistle, rippling through hungry moans.

 

Rummaging through her, ghost voices swim, fall with a dull thud.

Outside, near the filthy gutter, her little teeth gnash the stale breads.

Swirling in the night rain, voices of her washed out childhood, her lost village

Ebb and flow, the rose bud of her being torn up in shreds.

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2 thoughts on “The Murky Rain: Attempting a roseate sonnet

  1. Lopa, your poetry is often so intense – in cadence, imagery, and choices of words. I’m struck by the contrasts of love and abuse that surface in your work. Mermerizing, beautiful, and haunting as in this one. You’re an amazing poet.

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