Death of a Poem

Lost before conception,
she knew
it was time's fault;
and her creator's,
for he kept thinking
of those dreamy lands,
of magic moments
and love fountains.
In his mind
he was by the ocean
passing night in seclusion
in someone else's arms;
she was then a mere illusion.
He thought and thought
and kept on thinking,
she fought
but for a lost cause
cos' it was never upto her.
It was he, with whom rested
every authority and reason
power to take a decision.
The irony was,
it wasn't she
who started it all,
it was entirely his call.
And now
here she is
dying in neglect
her creator
is her perpetrator
leaving her
to a sad death.


Pic Courtesy: http://www.carltonhobbs.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/vestal-reale-1024x688.jpg