Musings on a lonely evening

Paintings on the wall,

Paintings of the world.

She hung them on the wall,

With utmost love and care.

Her mother had told her –

“You’ll be happy, mark my words.”

She swallowed back a few tears,

Happiness was not to be hers.

Venting out through silly art,

Filling up the void -

She had none but herself to blame

Choosing the fire, not the soil.

It was too early to leave,

Too late to pick up the pieces -

She breathed in the poisonous air

In the world of champagne and air-kisses.