She was broken
When I met her first
Her brokenness devouring her
Cracked inside her
Like a library burning quietly
While scholars sleep peacefully
Resting their doubtful heads
On soft pillows of self-pity
And comforting quilts of grandiosity
She was broken then
Now she is unbroken
She gathered herself
Piece by piece
Thought by thought
Word by word
Till I could collect her in my
arms
From the edges of many naked roads
now
I see her smiling and laughing
As if her newly brought dresses
And new found admirers
Could hide her cracks and fissures
I stand alone
On the corners of many familiar
lanes
Wondering every now and then
When someone is making love to her
Does he see her cracks too?
Does he feel her brokenness like I do?