Sunday, August 15, 2010

On turning 30

She is fragmented in the mirror,
a possibility failing over and over
to come to fruition.
How does one put the myriad petals
back into a rose?

(I think I've had an overdose of Sylvia Plath)

7 comments:

Boonsong said...

I think you've cracked it. This is really excellent. Thanks for sharing it.

All the best, Boonsong

Zaina Anwar said...

Thank you for reading this. I appreciate all your lovely comments.

Jenny Enochsson said...

Very sharp and witty!

Sylvia Plath, I reckon there are worse things to OD on. :)

Really good writing, again.

Francis Scudellari said...

You don't put them back, you use them to create something new. This has a lovely sadness.

Little Seed said...

Kudos!! You are a true wordsmith my cyberfriend. I am a great fan of your word art.

I normally don't ask, but please read my latest post and Follow me @ the new place if you like the idea. Your opinion is welcome and wanted!

Alexis Hallum said...

We'll then, this poem is a good kind of o.d! I love it.
This is the process of aging...mourning for things you wish could be put back in the places they use to be...
I truly enjoyed this:
"How does one put the myraid petals back into a rose?"
Great imagry.

Zaina Anwar said...

Thanks, guys. I always enjoy your feedback.