Portrait

Many of you might not like this poem. It has too many metaphors and is little dark. Please leave your feedback in case you are able to connect,

PORTRAIT

A Portrait first made, Shed tears for breath, Maker, your smile, Lost somehow now betrayed. A portrait just dressed, Colored firm and fresh; Maker you know the soul, And the layout behind that; Haggard and blown, In that weary robe, A steed, never she rode, What’s inside the abode? Cry out – your tears!? Mixed with colors, a maze, A salty vision, I know the taste, The horse now stabled, And the picture framed, Somehow clipped to the doors, Painter – you strive for more; Would you bargain me the right? To kiss her brows, And more on her toes, And more with her cores; Would you let me to the door? Slammed behind, With fertile blood, And blended folks; Oh! I am lost Again at the sight, Few more nights, Day makes only lights. Oh! I am for the lights, If not? A portrait in my flight, Peaceful and glowing bright; What I longed for, Now stripped to pieces, Lifeless – beats no more, Plugged in the whirlpool of saddles; Would you swallow? Passersby once more, The broken portrait, Retailed to your fortune; Spoiled brat, you smile, Through the frame, But who is your bearer? A darkness flowed and no names, The soothsayer now cries, And plays with my time; The glory of a sigh portrait, Brushed throughout and divine.

Shamsud A 

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