By Rushali Raja
I woke up with a mind that didn’t feel mine—
the one I beautifully sculpted of pain and dreams,
of poetry I recall—
but today, I didn't feel anything at all.
I squirmed and rubbed my eyes again,
couldn't fathom this intruder
who sat heavily on my chest,
as everything I ever yearned for
escaped through my breath.
I felt exposed.
I couldn't recognise myself anymore,
like being replaced with loss, untethered,
followed by the relentless shadow of an imposter...
She whispered,
"They don't live here—
those tenants to the fleeting menace of
joy, that you're looking for..."
I asked her,
"Will you sing me the same lullaby?
Maybe this time, I'll wake up instead..."
She stared in disbelief:
"What do you even mean?
I've always been here, you know me!"
Annoyed, I despise everything I wanted,
wondering why—
and if it was worth building her a home.
Scared, I knocked on her door.
"Will you find me,
if I don't remember my name at all?"
She didn't say anything...
Unamused by my woes,
she walks away with nonchalant gaze.
The farther she goes, the more I try to chase...
So I pause, and sit there on the edge and wonder:
Whom can I trust anymore to take my fall,
if after years of love and poetry,
I realise that
I feel nothing at all...