
They don't know the depth of a preserved pain hid in a chest like a pickle,
it turns sour every passing season
and I think of the silhouettes of those on the dilapidated alley
where they would meet how many would they become two or four? or one
and the zest of orange lingers on the end of my tongue
like I would wail any second or gulp it down in the other
thinking of the childhood innocence of welcoming your sibling
as they return from a long ride, to hop on the backseat
to breathe in the freshness of an October evening
It smells like smoke
like air mingling with the dust on stagnant leaves
the ones left, the ones fallen
the air smells sweet
Too sweet perhaps as if seducing me of the sweetness that exists outside
while dust settles on my lungs
debarring it of breath
Raindrops stuck on leaves,
inside flowers
putting blemishes on them as if infecting their lives
the morning holds a new stiller silence
chattering chaos heard but distant
The sky turns from dark to deep sea blue
and now to the sea itself
slowly I see its reflection on the white marble
a blue light
as if the torch bearer of the sun
I think, I believe and then I yield
the sun sheds no warmth
no light transcends a darkness denuded prevails within me
like the winter dew quivering with flakes
it paralyses my insides,
a numb me thus lain
I wish believing was the only necessity
my reason soughing anywhere except within.
Priyanshi Sharma is a 19 year old,who although claims to love poetry and writing,only occasionally delves into writing them when her thoughts cannot but spill all over and encompass her mind completely. You will mostly, find her looking at abstract unachievable art while she staggers on her daily schedule or just listening to piano playlists while waiting for autumn to fall.
