An older poem from my other blog (which I will be deleting most probably!)
A Word’s Journey
Hesitant
She resides
On a quivering, moist lip.
From the broken, beating, dying heart
To the boiling cortex lobe
Through an ignited stimuli,
To the barking voice box.
She came with lightening-speed
Grabbing on-edge, electric nerves
An angry flash from the larynx
Tornado-speed to the brink
Of the quivering, moist lip.
She hung, desperately
Wanting to break free
Fly like a free raven;
Not become an Albatross.
But gripped she was
Against her will,
Plastered to the skin
By a remnant of good sense.
So she tumbled back
Into the empty sinewy depths,
Endless cycles and nothingness
An eternal past tense.
(c) Shweta Taneja, August 2009