She
She lies curled up,
Foetal position,
The memory of a shell,
Once whole, now fragmented.
She slips through your fingers,
Like the sands of time.
The ghost of her soul lies deep beneath,
Amniotic waters.
She lies waiting,
Abandoned by redemption.
A postmodern comatose.
Aborted by reason and
Rendered immobile by passion.
Qurasha Rajkumar
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 03/09/2020
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