Image credit:

Tuesday, 20 October 2015


Image Credit: No. 8, Black Flowing, Jackson Pollock

At thirty three ignominiously,
His life was scattered around.
He had chosen his wife wisely,
Family-person, filthy rich and sound.

But, he was bereft before he knew,
Left with an infant and an ailing mother.
He incited sympathy of a few,
But his blood relatives did not bother.

You will be mine forever, he had said,
And had entered into blissful marriage.
A path of a new beginning they had tread,
A new chapter of life on a fresh page.

Unknown hands had pictured a messy story;
And the ink was strewn all over the page.
He could blame no one for the lost glory,
And could never come to terms with inner rage.

Written for Magpie Tales: mag 290


brudberg said...

I think that inner rage is what's really the hardest to cope with... for everyone.

Sun Bloom said...


Tess Kincaid said...


Sun Bloom said...

@ Tess Kincaid. Thank you!

Ankita said...

I loved every word of this poem! this describes a long journey of a man ravaged by his cruel fate in such a stirring manner..really nice

Sun Bloom said...

@Ankita, Thank you!

Bekkie Sanchez said...

Loved it! Nice rhyme in time for Halloween?

Sun Bloom said...

Thank you! Happy Halloween!

brudberg said...

Nice coming back to revisit...

Sanaa Rizvi said...

Such a powerful write..!

Sun Bloom said...

Thanks for revisiting.

Sun Bloom said...

@Sanaa Rizvi
Thank you!