His Midas Touch

He found her scattered around,
her heart broken to pieces
so was her soul,
and she had rough edges,
each protruding out,
screaming and telling an unforgiving story.

She was closed,
her thoughts stashed away
in some dark corner,
maybe a closed box,
hard to trace.

And her eyes bellowing red,
hard to tell,
if the crimson sparks
were because of her prolonged crying,
or from the rage she bore in her remnants.

But he didn’t give up on her,
he gathered her piece by piece,
and like a skilled craftsman,
chiseled her,
shaped her,
gave her time to heal.

And then magic happened,
her soul bloomed,
her heart smiled,
she was a new her,
a refreshed soul beaming with elation.

He gently held her hand
and glided her softly to the mirror,
and the image startled her,
and she cried,
her eyes were crimson red,
but this time for love.

But how strange was that,
for in the process of finding her
he discovered his own redound self
smiling with joy.

Copyright © Shantanu Baruah

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Shantanu Baruah and ckonfab.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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