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I mentioned a couple weeks ago that occasionally on Fridays I’d like to feature one of the amazing poets who make their home at Word Press. I’d like to kick that little feature off with one of my favorites. Miss Book Thief resides at Literature Is My Porn. Here’s what she has to say about herself.

`
Poets-CornerI’m Rupali, a 19 year old girl. I major in Mathematics. My friend threatened me to start this blog, and here I am. I love writing! Reading, even more so. I may be a writer, but I will always be a reader first. And thank you for this wonderful oppurtunity, I’m honoured. Truly. πŸ™‚

And I’m so glad to have you as my first guest poet!

Here’s the poem Rupali sent to be featured today. After it is one I fell in love with back in January. She is a beautiful, intuitive poet. Thank you Rupali, for helping me get this off the ground! And please do stop by Rupali’s blog and check our her work. You won’t be disappointed.

________________________________

`
How the skies turned blue.

It is said that
The skies were once
A blur of oranges
Mixed with lilacs
Sprinkled with vermillions
With a pinch of
Periwinkle thrown in.
Yellows occasionally danced
Inviting the emeralds along.
Amber streaks
Sang across the skies,
And auburns would
Join in for the chorus
While burgundy dots would
Watch from afar.

It is said that
The skies were once a riot
Of every brilliant hue imaginable.

Then one day,
The sky and the ocean
Fell in love.
Broken by a love
It could never touch
The colours
Slowly faded away
And the skies turned azure.
Heartbroken,
The ocean now reflected the skies
And became
A shy shade of blue.
And at nights,
When even blue
Is too much to bear
The sky turns sable
And the oceans roar and scream
With a ferocity
That is heartbreakingly beautiful.

`

`
The Mask

To Rafat, never stop being crazy.

Her mask of happiness
Is starting to melt
The stars in her eyes
Are losing their twinkle
And her crown of flowers
Is withering and dying.
Her sorrow, is beginning
To drip, through
The cracks in her lips
And, loneliness
Has begun to fall out
Every time she laughs.
Her eyes have become cages
And, a waterfall
Of memories
Are escaping through
The bars of the cages.
The green leaves
On the tips of her fingers
Are turning brown
And crumbling to dust
And her twinkling gown
Has turned into
Rags made of heartache.
Her ruby encrusted slippers
No longer fit
And her diamond studded earrings
Are nowhere to be found.
Her mask of happiness
Has slipped away
And, like Cinderella at midnight
She became
Her sad old self once again.

`

`

Picture Credit:Β parisplay.squarespace.com

 

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