Manya Saxena Poet Free verse

October Nights

In nights like these, my anxiety takes
different forms. One moment it is
looking out the window at the Diwali
lights; the next, it is drowning in
the pile of clothes fixed on the chair.

There are thoughts, so many of them.
They rise from the catacombs of
lost memories, lost people,
those people in those memories.

These catacombs
I had buried them long ago.
If only burning them were an option.

Turning to divinity seems
logical in nights like these.
The only thing that comes with it
is the reminder of how easy it is
to lose hope and awaken fear
when the only thing truly lost
is sleep, in nights like these.

There are people
screaming out of pain, out of joy,
out of the joy that comes from pain.
I understand it.

Imagine a soldier returning home, 
alive, scarred, yet returning.

In nights like these,
the world seems louder,
the heart seems silent.
The words do not make sense,
yet I write them.

And that is it.

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