Ode to Emily Bronte

I go berserk
When your madness finds me
And I have no explanation
When they find me howling at the full moon
Even good reason escapes me
I know not what I do
Damn, Emily!

You are to me
Like a salve to my soul
Like a frenzied awakening
From a dark chaotic turbulent dream
Like the Phoenix from her ashes
You make me rise again
Eyes glowering!

Can it be love?
Is it an affliction?
Or just a kind of “Plain Absurd”?
The way our hearts are welded together?
Two different eras find us
Bleeding, leaking, spouting
Damn, Poetry!

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Anne Adarsh

Anne Adarsh is a radiologist by profession but finds herself repeatedly returning to her first love in all things. Poetry. A self-confessed Recluse also blessed (or cursed perhaps!), with an insatiable curiosity to learn new things, writing to her, means a landscape in her mind's eye, to which she can always escape to, whenever life closes in on her.