___
I imagined her smooth,
soft skin turned dry and scaled
with age and neglect;
the whitening of her lush hair,
the souring of her body.
Time would shake beauty from her,
if beauty exists, until she became
a bare and scrawny trunk
surrounded by wisps of past glory.
Her muffled cries would fade
into the years, and the shine
love lent her eyes would
dissolve into a tired dream --
or so I thought;
I thought that love was
nothing so important after all,
and I could shrug, indifferent,
and let her walk away
with her wet cheeks
and anger --
and oh, if I could take back that day!
___
That is what you'll say
the day after I leave you.
___
You were warned.
*****
M.A. Mohanraj
November 15, 1996
More poems.