you were the trace
of April ether in the sky,
blooming like ripe pollen eyes
Sunday-
she lazed amongst trapeze bees.
under a watermelon sun,
i freeze, re
-freeze sorbets;
the lines are overgrown with
creeping tourmaline,
my phone has been dead ever since.
that death could be
so murderously cold
i never anticipated,
that death could touch you
wasn’t even supposed-
©Mohana Das
insanebloom 
Your last stanza is hauntingly beautiful
I could read this 100 more times. It flows wonderfully! And cultivates a real sense of emotion.
Thank you!!
I loved the emotions. Beautiful flow.
Very effective–lots of feeling–tourmaline is one of my all time favorite words, so you hooked me there, but the entire poem is vivid and real.
Loss of a loved one does indeed leave us in a tangle of vines, choking us up for a season.
Mohana, this is strong, sad and so touching!
Lovely work. You have inspired me to write something about dead phones.
{Ami}
http://sundrysumthins.wordpress.com/
this is my first time to your site… you definitely have a way with words! the images you weave, and the depth of feeling they invoke, are simply breathtaking.
Howl, Howl, beyond comprehension this death, but there is a wisp of her:
“you were the trace
of April ether in the sky,
blooming like ripe pollen eyes
Sunday-
she lazed amongst trapeze bees.”
Cold, Cold, frozen rainbow gem, silence. POW!
Your poem moves me.
Amazingly strong verse. Wow.