poem

Everyday at noon i pass by an old woman,
searching for pennies on the roadside.
She ambles here and there on the streets of all lands,
till the noon is replaced by starry night.
I sometimes see her returning with fists full of pennies,
or sometimes with empty hands.
She fumbles her words in the air as i walk by,
i refuse to hear in the fear that maybe the darkness of my soul is recognised.
So i made one jar of feathers belonging to birds who flew,
And secretly i started collecting pennies when the sky was painted black and blue.
I found pennies under trees,
who's branches hung the lives i knew.
To fill the jar completely with pennies,
I traded the feathers of my hopes and memories,
I gave my labour to my life,
Only in return to get my jars broken of empty eyes.
The broken pieces carried my soul,
My body in tattered clothes,
I stood near roadside covered in fumes of blood in rose,
And i searched for pennies all alone and old.
                                                    -Reannshi