This one was written in India, and I like this one a lot! There are many reasons behind about it, but anyway, its about this young adult who is intrigued about a woman who everone is intimidated of.....now if you want to find out what happens next, read on!
Evergreen memories
By Nashwa khan, August 26, 2008
She was an old, old woman
Solitary and alone
And everyone seemed to despise her
Because she was so desolate and forlorn
And yet I knew it in the depths of my heart
She was not at all depraved
She had something sad to impart
Something in her memory was engraved
She lived atop a misty hill
During winter, monsoon or summer
And even during autumn or spring
Her house seemed shrouded in slumber
It made me inquisitive everyday
Wondering how she sustained such misery
Why she was not happy or gay
What she veiled in her memory
So one day, I crept in her gloomy abode
To know what it concealed
To discern what that formidable place showed
She was there, Her eyes staring and mouth sealed
And as I drew near her
She lifted her hollow, expressionless eyes
She reeled and staggered a little with fear
She had a depressing yarn to tell, I could surmise
We sat that cold wintry night
I listening to her and she talking to me
And when dawn came, she concluded her tale
The story opened when she was three
It was a dismal noon, she learnt of her mother’s demise
Leaving her to sob helpless and cry
Her father, obviously taken by surprise
Ran away before she could realize why
She fell in coma then, out of shock and fright
For years she was haunted, unaided
The next time she remembered, she sat upright,
She was old and deprived, lone and distressed
She slowly smiled at me and sighed
‘’my memories are now sweet, earlier bitter’’
I asked her why, and she replied
‘’that’s because you look like my mother.’’
By Nashwa khan, August 26, 2008
She was an old, old woman
Solitary and alone
And everyone seemed to despise her
Because she was so desolate and forlorn
And yet I knew it in the depths of my heart
She was not at all depraved
She had something sad to impart
Something in her memory was engraved
She lived atop a misty hill
During winter, monsoon or summer
And even during autumn or spring
Her house seemed shrouded in slumber
It made me inquisitive everyday
Wondering how she sustained such misery
Why she was not happy or gay
What she veiled in her memory
So one day, I crept in her gloomy abode
To know what it concealed
To discern what that formidable place showed
She was there, Her eyes staring and mouth sealed
And as I drew near her
She lifted her hollow, expressionless eyes
She reeled and staggered a little with fear
She had a depressing yarn to tell, I could surmise
We sat that cold wintry night
I listening to her and she talking to me
And when dawn came, she concluded her tale
The story opened when she was three
It was a dismal noon, she learnt of her mother’s demise
Leaving her to sob helpless and cry
Her father, obviously taken by surprise
Ran away before she could realize why
She fell in coma then, out of shock and fright
For years she was haunted, unaided
The next time she remembered, she sat upright,
She was old and deprived, lone and distressed
She slowly smiled at me and sighed
‘’my memories are now sweet, earlier bitter’’
I asked her why, and she replied
‘’that’s because you look like my mother.’’
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