I Lost My Purse

[GEETASHREE]

I crept slowly behind him
He sat at his study desk
By the big window
Deep in musing
A few pages askew on the table
A few lying supine on the ground
The sun streamed in
Like a golden flood
Washing the room
In splendour abound

I tiptoed into the middle of the room
Picked up the pages
Scented with his thoughts
Missives of love
I was amused
If he found me in the room
How would he react?
The recipient of the lovelorn lore
Standing just right behind!

But what was this?
As my eyes fell on the name
My dreams shattered
Against jagged rocks
As I turned around the fish bowl crashed
On the ground
He turned back with a start
Aghast!
He looked at me for a few moments
And time stopped
The way it had done two years back

A sea kissed shore
A sprinkle of waves
We had waltzed wetting the hems
Of our clothes
My stilettos had given in
Doing a few quickened steps
The broken pair still lies somewhere
Wrapped in a foil of silver nest

I did not brush away the tears
Wetting my cheeks
I left a pile of quests unsought
My purse reclining on the sofa
I consider as property lost
Neither did I share my womb’s
Secret accredited to his Midas touch!

I just left……. without looking back
Because there was nothing more to say
The name on those letters, you see
Belonged to my best friend, Jesse!

[hillwalker]

I managed to figure out the 'twistp to this piece on my first reading so perhaps the final 4 lines are unnecessary - give your readers more credit - the final stanza only serves to weaken what is probably your best poem on here (imho).

The image of the sea and the way your shattered dreams go through similar upheaval was subtly drawn. Good stuff.

H

[GEETASHREE]

Thanks Mr. Hill for reading my poem and the words of appreciation. Although the betrayal is writ all over the poem I thought the last four lines would heighten the poignancy, dilemma and paradox of the situation. Regards

[AuntShecky]

I agree with Hill (his replies are always so good!) about the subtlety. I noticed how it seems to "tweak" the usual suspects (the sea, for instance) with which in love poetry often tiptoes toward banality.

I've got to look up "supine" again. Try as I might, I never fail to get it confused with "prone."