MOHIT MITRA Poet Other

Keyhole

—The Law of Entanglement—

 I have tried every key:
      the aureate key of morning,
          the burnished wards of laughter,
          music, sunlight, wine, remembered joy—
      all the bright artifices of happiness;
         yet none could turn the lock I carry within me.
        Behind that darkness waits a country vast
         with amber rooms and orchards heavy with light,
     where my heart might finally unfasten its vigil
        and feast without listening for the footfall of loss.

            But joy
              has laws.

               Every lock
                remembers
                  its key.

             Mine
              is not
                mine.

                  One key belongs
                to the woman I love,
              whose nearness makes mercy
                  possible within the weather of my blood.

                 One belongs to my daughter,
              whose voice can summon spring
                 from the most frostbitten chambers of me.

                 One belongs to my son,
              whose presence can make
            an ordinary hour incandescent.

                   They may
                    never know
                      what they carry.

                  That is
                       the anguish.

                       That is
                       the grace.

                       I can kindle
                       every lamp,
                       summon every
                       liturgy of joy—

                       still,
                       the door
                       remains.

                       For love
                       has made us
                       entangled:

                       what one life
                       possesses
                       another
                       may need
                       in order
                       to become
                       fully alive.

                       So I wait—

                       not broken,
                       but faithful—

                       knowing the country
                       is already there,
                         breathing beyond the lock,

                       and happiness
                       is not mine
                       to manufacture.

                       It waits

                       for three hands.

                       Three keys.

                       One opening.

                       And then—

                       I enter
                       the life
                       they
                       unlock
                       in me.

♡Like1

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Alison A Smith nee Howarth September 8, 2026 at 3:33 AM Back to congratulate you on a podium win with your poem Keyhole. Well done 👏 MOHIT MITRA September 8, 2026 at 5:55 AM Only, perchance, could this have been wrought hadst thou not breathed such gracious light and kindly spirit into it whilst it was yet in the making. Thou knowest, Ambrosial Alison, 🌸 a mere “thanks” falls woefully short of the gratitude I bear thee—for thy cherished presence, and for the warmth thou didst lend to what my hands had wrought. ✨

John Anderson September 7, 2026 at 11:08 AM Congratulations on your placement is this contest. I hope you enjoyed the challenge! Well Done! MOHIT MITRA September 8, 2026 at 5:50 AM Jocund John,🌸 First, accept mine humble gratitude for the generous honour thou hast accorded my poor verses. Thy ingenious challenge hath lured me beyond my wonted precincts, and I confess I relished the venture. My verses seem oft to issue from some ancient, inward wells; I am then less their author than their artificer—arranging, adorning, and giving their scattered utterance a visible architecture. Hence I seldom essay free verse, though I marvel at those who make silence eloquent, and even typography breathe. 🤔 It recalls how, as a child, I drew an apple when bidden draw a mango—beautifully, perhaps, yet irrevocably an apple. 😀 I do hope, this time, I have escaped mine old art. 🥰 May light ever find thee, Jovian John! 🌹

Andrea Dietrich August 10, 2026 at 4:28 PM This is so beautifully profound and shows strong familial love. A fave for me 🥰 MOHIT MITRA August 10, 2026 at 7:42 PM Andrea, thy gracious words do me great honour. I am humbled that the poem’s inward chamber found some answering chamber in thee. Its keys were forged, not of mine devising, but of those quiet affections by which we are made more than we are alone. ✨ If thou hast felt the love beneath its sorrow, then the verse hath found its truest reader. I thank thee most heartily for calling it a favourite. 🙏 Stay blest evermore! 🕊️

Alison A Smith nee Howarth August 8, 2026 at 11:55 PM what one life possesses another may need in order to become fully alive. I enter the life they unlock in me. Wonderful. MOHIT MITRA August 10, 2026 at 3:32 AM Thank you so very much, Alison. Your generous words mean more to me than I can properly express. I must confess, I struggled quite a bit with the formatting of this piece, as my mind tends to linger far more naturally with the writing itself than with the technicalities of presentation. I am still learning to give the page the same attention I give the poem. Your appreciation is therefore especially encouraging. Thank you for reading it so deeply and for taking the time to say so. ♡