Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Charu Sharma writes

We break against the dirt of the ground
with the loudest thud,
it's there for everyone to hear
it's there for everyone to see.
A glass pane put back together
from its broken shards
isn't as transparent;
you can trace the deep grayish sadness
running along the long lines of its cracks,
just on the brink of turning entirely opaque.

Under my navel
runs a deep chasm,
my voice has always gotten lost
in its depth;
the door to my room left slightly ajar
just to remind me
that there is a way out
from this all consuming Dark.

This place is whimsical,
sometimes I am asphyxiated
while at others, I somehow catch a
whiff of breath.
Monotony in the constant murmurs,
a sign of commotion
yet it feels so soul less;
I am surrounded mostly by blinds,
strictly confined in their designated
row number on a particular column,
while I am always spilling out
of this rigid structure,
wondering at the possibility
of an absolute silence:
Would it feel as much dead, or
could it deaden any more?

A grey bird atop a penthouse
against the pinkish hues of the sky,
some purple splurted here
some orange intervened from there,
I overlooked
this one day
from a window running from floor to ceiling;
what an overwhelming quiet, what an absolute
that I didn't even realize that
at just that moment
I had developed an urge to fly!

No comments:

Post a Comment

Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?