War as a playmate

Look at the pretty girls, pouting
and coloring their pink lips with a reddish hue.
Embellishing their glossy gossamer hair
Saturating themselves with perfume.

I only smell the stench of rotten souls
No Sandalwood or Rosemary.
When the rain rinses the world
globe is just black and white to me.

No Canary yellow or Parrot green
No colors color my pale world today.
Memories of war are a cheap perfume
they refuse to fade away.

Sentient, blooming and blossoming
I wish I were one of the girls I see.
But I have lived with vicious war
the flagrant perfume is me.

 

About Sargam Garg

A lover of jazz and yoga, Sargam Garg has found home on the east coast of the US. Writing poetry keeps her on her toes as does the intellect of her witty husband.