Septic Silence
Your work kept you far from home for so long
I learned to answer doors, fears, fevers,
and silence by myself.
I buried my youth
inside lunchboxes, waiting rooms,
and children who needed two parents
but found only me.
And now,
when my hands finally reach for yours,
you speak to me
like I am something unbearable to see,
something violent enough to kill.
After a lifetime of carrying us both,
I did not expect love,
only kindness.
But you looked at the woman
who spent her whole life protecting your world,
and spoke to her
as if she were the ruin in it.
Some wounds do not bleed red.
They turn the soul septic quietly,
until even love begins to smell of death.
©?Chitra Arun
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
