Wednesday, December 17, 2014

A Poem by Brihintha Burggee

If The World Crumbles Down
You are not the wails of
despaired orphaned wombs
that have been shredded prematurely.
You are not the arms,
opened to nowhere in despair
that yearn the fieriness of their beloved.
You are not the torn flesh
of pristine fledglings –
the pregnant dove,
now splashed with bloody stains.
You are not the rubble
that opens its cracks after every blast,
to welcome death's darkness,
And yet!
You are the clamour
that can rouse the heedless;
You are the beam
that can lift a prayer to the heavens;
You are the united mass
that can lower heads,
out of lofty crowns and pride
and overthrow the canker,
out of hearts.

Aged 20, Brihintha Burggee is enjoying the experience of writing her first poems. She lives in a small paradise island called Mauritius in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Her works have been previously published by The Rainbow Rose, The Camel Saloon, Mad Swirl and Leaves of Ink.

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