Poem- A Tribute to Sylvia Plath

The Truth has Spoken to Me

Beware, for there

is fire beneath my nails

and I can scratch

your slippery surface

to swiftly reveal

your masked secrets.

In a box I have lived

full of moist

blackness

and tiny holes punctured

to watch you floating unperturbed

in your fabricated microcosm.

You have always come to me

enshrouded in a thick swelling screen

of smoke and the smell

of burning charcoal as we ignite,

already exhausted,

our embittered passion.

But the heart that has fed,

since time immemorial,

joyous interludes

to our silent ordeal,

has now come to rest

and left us to willingly die

or to pick up the ashes-

it is for us to decide.