By-Navdha Bhardwaj
One. I snuggle into a fearsome bed and hit my elbow.
It bleeds. I whistle.
This blood is the price to comfort within thorns.
It is the gold torn away from my soul so I can breathe in these Waters called loneliness.
Two. Abstract thoughts.
Sphallolalia means flirtatious talk that leads nowhere.
Did you know there are birds that only mate once?
One day I killed a bird like that, by mistake.
The sun is strangely yellow today.
Is Emptiness yellow, I wonder…
Three.
I sometimes pretend there are strings between me and another person.
Just for the sake of having some connection.
But then this false Hope shoves another thorn in my elbow
And I sever 'them Threads' while I whistle.
Four. Loneliness wasn't always a dark curtain for me to hide my scarred face in.
At first, it had Burnt.
I had grown new skin.
But I met it again in a dark Alleyway.
I was more prepared but Lone smirked.
What can I do now but hide my scarred face in its cold embrace?
Five. They ask me why my ears ache.
They tell me they shouldn't, given that I-
Talk to no one. Go to no parties. Listen to no songs.
I forgive them immediately,
Because I don't want yet another voice in my head.
Irony.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn