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…


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.




This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon:

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