A poem from the book “Dreams & Dew”

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A Tuesday Poem -Twined

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The Suffragettes….(Happy Mother’s Day)

She cried out of her senses

Sheer despair, beaming at its hinges

Shedding her thoughts and beliefs

Resting in her mind’s deepest crevices!

With every drop, inching out attached negativity

Spreading thin, creeping riddled sensitivities

Cleansing out the coloured palettes

Years of depressed feministic rights and fates

Blooming on with the beautiful suffragettes!

© Chriselda Barretto

Dedicated to Mother daughter suffragettes: Christabel and Emmeline Pankhurst

Mistral Winds

Shelter I seek
from these mistral winds
touching my skin
as ice on fire
melting innately all my ire!

Opening my pores
as the petals of a rose
blooming in abundance
under these rays
of the morning sun affray!

Carry me with you
onto the sea
glistening shades
of the truest blue.

Birds flying high
their spirits roaming
gravity free
making me feel full
of happiness & glee!

© Chriselda Barretto

From the book: Dreams & Dew

The Beautified Field

His breath I yearn
His hands, that cold burn
His eyes dissecting my every turn
Locking us in a whirlwind, upturned!

But there is this secret I hide
Kept away on the inside, oh so sly
Jealousy hinging on every try
Keeping you always at my side!

Playing an apt game, to and fro
Hidden pleasure on the beautified field
Bringing all that we ever need, superstitiously freed
Reaching both our inner willed seeds!

© Chriselda Barretto


Looking on that lonely path
Shrouded darkness leading to an unaltered mark
Is this what’s left?
The deadly bitterness of sweet aftermath!

Distant footsteps, nearing each heart beat
Growing louder, this fleeting echo
Nothingness accompanying these feet
Stopped static right in front of me!

Feeling sight, glaring bright
Yet, darkness surrounding free
Instilling a cold shiver
Beginning an uneven still fright!

The Quarrel!

Bring out those unsolicited claims
Witness in your heart pretentious gains
Blowing worthiness of splendour and gold
Tell me this isn’t true or revoltingly untold!

Say ye, thee wise men
Born into the stressful messy den
Unfold thy lids, covered with years of dust
Belong to this song, make no precipitating fuss!

Rush thee now, whistle on fours
Turn that wind dial, hush then some more
Terror draw you out of your circle
Enter my square, begin now that ultimate quarrel!

©Chriselda Barretto