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Smrithi Shibichakravarthy Poem
He heard the whispers call his name,
asked himself if he was sane,
From his diary sounds arose,
with curiosity, he went close.
The lock which kept the pages bound,
shuddered against the rising sound,
For freedom the voices cried,
With persuasion his caution died.
With the key he twisted the lock,
what happened next left him in shock,
In total blackness he stood alone,
where he was to none known.
Agony, pain
misery and disdain.
A desolate oblivion,
left with no companion.
The voices faded to a single one,
Brightness blinded him like the sun,
His own figure whispered true and free,
He asked himself,
How could the whispers just be me?
Copyright © Smrithi Shibichakravarthy | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Smrithi Shibichakravarthy Poem
My Sun
Did it hurt when you were told I was gone,
Did it pain to know you were never going to see me again,
That you and I, us - we're done?
Blame yourself for the drought that replaces the fallen rain.
A scarcity of affection,
But how can something that never existed be scarce,
Let me ask you - no beg you to understand my affliction,
But do feelings dwell in a heart so sparse?
You're the sun.
You were my sun.
The same sun which gave me life didn't think twice to dry and drain my soul turning it into nothing but air.
A vapor, one of despair.
Copyright © Smrithi Shibichakravarthy | Year Posted 2017
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