And all the stories I told you
The layers, the colours, the different threads,
I gave them to you to hold.
Why didn’t you encircle them as I would have your stories?
Why didn’t you hold them till they grew smaller?
(We could have released them, watched them powerless,
Watched them go.)
Instead you took the layers, the colours, the threads
Reduced them into adjectives
Fitted them into your bow
Took a careful aim.
As I prise them out
I wonder if you have tales of woe
Stitched together by cruel silences
And these aren’t held by anyone, either.
And perhaps it is these that grow.

~ (c) Vinitha (22 days of writing poetry)

#napowrimoxnidhscraps #day22