Ecdysis

 

The red and the blue,

the green one too,

and this pretty beige –

they all have to go

from my wardrobe

bursting at the seams

overflowing with clothes

new and old

and some over-worn,

for, when comes the time

to shed the garb

of fleshy yarn

and bloody weaves

in which I was born,

why leave a litter

of abandoned skins

like hollow shells

that, though once pretty,

would be empty

and mere debris?

 

©

[Image by pngtree.com]

[This poem was first published by Madras Courier.]