Cottage Chronicles

Repentance

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Who is she

Who stares back at me,

Through streams of kohl

Spilling from the dark glaciers,

That once concealed hurt and pain

behind a curtain of opaque ice?

Cascading down the unblemished dusk,

So contrastive to the scarred heart.

The once immaculately pinned locks

Now a tangled tornado,

A curtain of night, veiling her entire being,

Her cratered crescent buried somewhere in between.

She holds the very dagger in her hands,

That cut her into two.

Who's blood it holds, she herself doesn't know.

Who thought in saving herself,

She'll have to kill too?

I don't recognise the sinned being,

Screaming agonising apologies to her own heart.

How will the moon in her smile,

The stars in her eyes, the sun on her face,

Ever forgive her for murdering their illuminated innocence?

Despite the answers she gave them all

For not running but playing the cards,

"The glint of his dagger reflected in his eyes,

What was I supposed to do

When I saw his pitchfork hiding behind sweet words?

I wasn't the witch, just a woman."

'But why did you become one?

Why didn't you run like all other times?

How is it like, betraying yourself for vengeance for the first time?'

She starved her body and laboured for nights

Out in the world, for repentance she could not find.

So she bowed her head,

Gave up the fight.

And within herself once again,

She saw the filckering light.

Perhaps from now, if she did white deeds,

One day this black dot would too become pearl grey.

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