I...I...His

I am-

His daughter,

His sister,

His friend,

His girl,

His wife,

His mother,

I am his.

I am-

His ambition,

His virtue,

His inspiration,

His passion,

His desire,

His love,

I am his.

I am-

His angst,

His shame,

His insanity,

His foul,

His torment,

His sorrow,

I am his.

I am his,

But never me,

Never free,

Or a floating spirit.

I am clouded with,

Whatever his is,

But never me,

So, I am his.

I am his,

I was his,

I will be his.

I don’t want to be his.

I don’t like to be his.

I want to be mine,

Mine in time,

Mine in place,

Mine in soul,

Mine in me.

I want to be me.

I want to be myself.

I want to be mine.

I want to be I.

Waning Sun

It is almost to sun set,

Where the stars and moon would have met.

I see her eyes stretching across,

Over the horizon measuring the loss.

Un-disturbed sight tells tale,

Of misery, wisdom, strength and frail.

Tender hands have wrinkled in winter,

Sorrow and pain has been its marker.

Deep cracks on her face,

Life, now has no grace.

Alone, lone in the dark,

An idle waiting has made its remark.

Long sighs of her breaths

Are the reasons of her deep regrets.

The greyness of her hair

Leaves no experiences bare.

The furrow on the brow

And head hanging so low.

While she makes her way back

I follow her limping track.

Not assuming what I can fetch

Of her grieves and suffers I make a sketch.

Not a word, she utters,

In her own deep thoughts, she slumbers.

Dark curtains envelopes her,

The vista soon becomes blur.

I see her walking away,

Her image will always stay.