The Song of my Heart – Delhi Poetry Slam

The Song of my Heart

By Soumya Doralli 

 

The Song of my Heart
By Soumya Doralli

The moon glances through the
fractured branches of the peepal tree,
a white coin plastered to the dusky sky.
I do not know if it is the bank of clouds
or the illusionary ink of my pen that
wanes it away, slowly, bit by bit,
as if part of a harsher truth that
to exist at times you need to disappear
into oblivion leaving no trace.
He did the same to me.

When the twilight winks out and the
susurration of the chirpy stream
is all the music I hear, I slip into my warm
four-poster bed with my diary.
The blue-shaded lamp with the carmine moth
spiraling around it like a hopeless lover,
aids me in the process,
in penning the train of thoughts that thread
their way through a labyrinth of emotions.
I see the Lepidopteran once settled is
side-eyeing me perhaps gingerly,
as if I would squash it and blow it away
until its papery wings float and eventually settle
on the Kadappa stone flooring
and the dust motes garnish it with delight.
He is not moving.

I doze off and wake to the cackle of a neighbour,
silence is a luxury that people mistake for
weakness, a sign post of an internal conflict.
I rather flaunt it when an occasion demands it,
and announcing through the
deafening shrill of the night,
it has perhaps arrived.

I ruminate -
He was a debonair young man,
peering into the windshield of my Porsche,
his unadulterated smile reaching
his deep-set eyes that
carried the whole wide world in them
only I was out of reach.

And now as I pine away his absence,
dabbling in a river of pain,
with quivering lips unsure of parting,
heart strumming a song of melancholic beats,
tears streaking my cheeks and turning to salt,
from beneath the depths of despair,
I know he has found me just as I have
lost him.


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