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Cacophany
Where harmony hoards the supposed hurt,
Symphonies belie me.
I rein myself in to not be curt,
But noise surrounds me.
Where time heals the freshly toiling,
I have old, murky bloodstains
Yet no one sees how quietly I'm boiling
Until the tipping point I shall hide my pains.
Why such a discordance in my disposition?
I desire to mourn the impact of this tyranny
Is this prophetic or an imposition? It's difficult to overlook the irony.
Someday I will explode, not implode
A magnetic, magnificent starburst.
For now, continue, continue to goad,
But this cacophony will not halt my bloodthirst.
Copyright ©
Mrinalika Chauhan
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