The Clairvoyant

Dimples caved in and out on her wizened cheek,

As she sat narrating tales of yore, in a voice so weak. 

Saga of love and tragedy,

Shaping her into this 'mystic lady'.

Her dim lit eyes shone their way, well into the past,

Delving deep digging out her scars that have forever last.

Bride at thirteen, widowed by twenty one, 

Thus began a solo voyage under the sun. 

Lonely as that cricket at night in the thicket,

Or moon in a black sky with stars for a picket...

Others wondered... What a beautiful damsel at eighty one?

 While she saw herself as weary, broken and done. 

After all these decades as she reminisces her life,

Of love and happiness eclipsed by strife; 

Foggy self dragging on her toes, 

Pitied by friends, jeered by foes. 

Suddenly wrinkles iron out, her cough is gone,

That bride of eons, I get to see.. slowly dawn. 

Demure and dreamy a smile that stroke,

Once upon a time the heart of her bloke. 

Swimming in his eyes, sitting beside the lake,

She saw in them all that her future would make. 

As she recounted her eyes overcast, came back all creases, 

Recalling how abruptly her mirror shattered to pieces. 

She sits at the street corner near the town pub,

Eyeing palmar creases, to earn her day's grub.  

Beads of all colours on her neck and flowing skirt, 

Faded in patches, embroidery dyed in the ..dirt. 

She knows it all, the town calls her a clairvoyant,

 Wished she had known hers too, none so poignant.