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I Chose To Run Away

By Mohika Ahuja
@visionandperspectives
For eyeballs that search for
art in pain,
this isn't a piece to soothe your souls;
the ones who choose to walk away
from despair,
you are free to step on my shadow
and run away;
for the words to follow
will filter reality
out of candy coated cigarettes
you smoke each midnight
to hide the burns
on your tamed tongues;
I've grown up in brokenness
of melamine crockery,
of smiles in dusted photo frames,
of bonds once firmly held,
and I seek no pleasure when I say
I've outgrown it all;
Was it a fortnight affair,
a month of shivering limbs and pursed lips,
or a year of tossing and turning
through nights in beds
that knew of no dozing off?
I do not know;
I have smelled a rotten rose
on the three hundred and second page
of my sister's quantum physics book;
Just the same, I have seen wrinkled
hopes in Grandma's eyes
for a sun that may rise tomorrow,
or the next day, or the day after,
or, never?
Pain has no art,
mind you,
for had it had,
newspaper columns
wouldn't speak
of a kid jumping off the seventh floor
of the building
he found his dad in with a lady;
Pain is not something
you get better at dealing with everyday,
for were it the case,
I wouldn't have put to fire
the part of me that pulls me back,
and I wouldn't have then tasted
the ashes again
the next week, too.
So yes, I woke up one day
and my dictionary was one less a word,
I knew of no pain,
only healing,
and in it, growing;
The petals are bound to wither,
aren't they,
the wrinkles will have, one day
outdone your charm,
inevitable, isn't it?
My hesitancies decided to stop
hovering over my weak heart
the day I chose to run away;
I ran away.
I packed a pair of cargo pants
and essentials,
clutched onto a chilled water bottle,
with chills down my spine,
I left it all behind;
It takes a second, you know,
to choose yourself
over your pains,
to pick your worth
over the luggage
you are handed with expectations,
to begin with;
Today, I have come out of pain,
for I have realized
pain does not demand to be felt,
only to be stifled to death
with ropes of self love and of awareness.
Today, I am a lookalike
of victory.

6 comments

  • Aag laga daala. Majaa aa gaya.

    Sudarshan Kumar
  • Wow!💜

    Arunima SenGupta
  • gave me goosebumps! wonderful writing

    anuradha
  • Well penned <3
    And the line , ‘’The petals are bound to wither,
    aren’t they’’ beautiful!

    Habiba Zaidi
  • Well penned <3
    And the line , ‘’The petals are bound to wither,
    aren’t they’’ beautiful!

    Habiba Zaidi
  • Well penned <3
    And the line , ‘’The petals are bound to wither,
    aren’t they’’ beautiful!

    Habiba Zaidi

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