graffiti of time, so layered with grime

lost is her luster, accustomed eyes’ crime


scatter some white, the powder on her rind

cloak of cellophane tape to wrap and bind


stiff is the nude, her transparency chastised

scrape off, such scarred impressions she hide


testimony of love, lust and of dying stars

fingerprints of lost lovers, the skin so marred


embossed in such doleful memoir is her skin

the recital of handprints she was cradled in


gather the latent, dust off these remains

off memory, off complaint, so free of stains


weep, weep, let her weep all she needs

scrub it off, wipe it off, score her skin till it bleeds


behold her blank wall, o the artists enthralled

an exotic art awaits her to cherish and own


she deserves


© Written Frames, 2018

Image Source: Pinterest


Mighty Echo Of The Past


Time is the mightiest they say-

Lonesome, shroud and adamant,

It lingers for none

Doesn’t wait for that someone

Promises love to no one.

It advances, on and on

Befriending only dynamic souls,

The foes left with regretful holes

Ruthlessly it curses, and goes on.


Ever wondered about mighty memories

How gracefully it hovers by

A beautiful echo of the past,

Spellbound to surrender, a mystic lullaby;

Wind drools in silence, rivers it dried

Leap of days and reality

A home to soul, in ruins of past I do find;

Helplessly stuck at the whims of heart

It is the time which is undermined.