Poetry: The picture on the wall

The picture on the wall
By Mayborn Lyngdoh R

The picture on the wall hangs motionlessly
Painted on a papyrus,
Caged, in the termite-museum glass.
It was an age old antique love story.

Far away in a lonesome shed it stood.
In a far away distant thought, it could.
A dream was living a dream
Forgetting how misty it all had seemed.

There once was an old care-taker of Bertha,
Lean and stout in intellect and precept.
A mule plodding to the Mount of Golgotha
The canvas turned bitter with a wept.

There was no time for him to be weak,
The privilege he ever had was time for the meek.
He cannot afford a drop of tear,
The old rotten wood rests in fear.

The old picture frame has a dingy look,
Painted with fine dust and the ashes soot.
There sits a king, a queen on his right arm-chair
Cob-webbed in garment; block not her gentle flair.

Dare not he disturb the dusty garment?
He appeasingly hides in the blemish firmament.
But when the heaven opened a gentle shower
The old rugged house let loose a heavenly tear.

As Caleb anticipating the look on the naked Bertha
The roof was off, the doors stretching wide
The long pending acknowledgement at the peak of tide
Before anyone’s glance, the walls fell; poor Bertha in a platter.

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