Reading Plath...

I look at her pale face..

Her birth on a scorpion star like mine..

each time she was born and died herself..

she madly loved a beast Hughes

telling every poet

not to love an another poet..

I'm not an Electra

and my daddy not a narcissist..

a gas chamber in her rotten apartment

and that holocaust of words

undone and left like her orphans

in a room deep asleep..

I'm no Plath..

am I?

By

SOYA V.N.