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Sreshtha Srivastava Poem
I don’t write because I ‘like’ to
I do, I mean
but the memories whose door I dare to open again….
is something you do not write about
BUT I DO.
I do because without the agony there is no real me
I find peace in my torture
my anguish
my woe
my endless torment
~I write as the raw pain engulfs my insides while burning them with the same fire I burn through and the demons inside me start gnawing at the inhumanity of me
eating it all up like banshees
as my fingers bleed into the paper and my skin
forcing the crimson to surge out of the vessels
a pattern so lovely.~
I keep writing as the burden on my head
feels like a mountain
who is crushing me slowly
Steadily
into the ground while I keep trying
trying to stand
but it weighs my insanity
my lunacy.
I keep writing as I struggle to come up
while the weight of my past keeps pulling me down
and I struggle
for just a single gasp of air.
but the worst is when I keep writing
when my heart is exhausted from trying to come up
as I descend into the darkness of the sea
the dark all so familiar.
~I burned so much from the fire, that even the coldest of seas could not douse the torment growing inside of me~
the simplicity might seem uncanny to you
but for me, it’s the familiarity of pain
of abandonment
of exhaustion.
I live in it
no
I find solace in it.
and as the last of oxygen leaves my body
and nothing other than a void
of eternal pain is left of me
I keep drowning in it
because that pain at least
gives me a reason to exist.
Copyright © sreshtha srivastava | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Sreshtha Srivastava Poem
I look at the banquet laid before me
a table groaning under the weight of dishes
different types and textures, all just there
A perfect platter someone wishes
It's exhausting, it's nauseous.
the sight of endless dishes, someone's dream
just lying there, on the table
looking me in the eyes, daring me to scream
Scream at it, show my vulnerability
Lie beneath its mercy, helpless.
Fear mirrored in my stare.
leaving me a cowardly stained mess
It laughs at me as it looks at my face.
shameful, with disgust and pity
How can someone fear the elixir of life?
the only reason for every living soul in the city
The mere thought of the fuel of the body
Food, the reason for sustenance
makes me drop to my knees, crying
begging, scared of the consequences
Am I that weak? To be scared of something so routine?
something so…ordinary? So mundane?
Or am I just too big a mess to ever admit
Admit that this is always going to be vain.
This quiet horror of hunger is always going to pull me towards it.
No matter how fast I run, how strong I push, how hard I cry
How long I struggle, however much I try to loosen myself.
Its grip tightens, choking me, killing me, eyes dry
I'm helpless, no escape
Crying, but there is no sound coming out of my mouth.
It's there on the plate, staring, tightening even further.
My eyes are dry of tears as life leaks out
How should I escape, how should I run?
go.GO.GO. I scream to myself, but it's worthless.
I'm strangled, too tired to fight.
I sink in its grasp, eyes closed with defeat.
Sleep finds me, cruel yet complete.
This horror is a part of me.
etched too deeply in me to get out of its cruelty
And what was meant to be eaten eats the life out of me.
I, an empty vessel, sink beneath its endless duality.
Copyright © sreshtha srivastava | Year Posted 2025
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