By Soumya Bandhu
Salt spots,
Choking,
I am enraged,
By Madness.
I am inflamed,
In Darkness,
I am engulfed.
With a heavy heart and shattered soul,
I embark on this journey with a hole.
In place of the once warm chambers,
There is not much zeal left, I am afraid.
I will tremble.
I don’t even love myself, I am such a hater.
The voices violently vomit, then they ate her.
She tied her remains to the high valued papers,
Perhaps with a gold star, the family will tolerate her.
She saw two extremes, exclusively expressive,
Though without them wilds, I am unsure of my woes.
Do I feel these feelings or let them flee?
Are these thoughts even mine or were they mimed?
I am drenched and stretched out in the cold,
As the abnormals' normal norms numb me.
Twenty-seven years later,
By the wishful whisper of the light, I am guided.
I am not where I once was,
I am not where I am meant to be.
I am somewhere in the between,
Beguiled by my feelings.
What is the right way, if any, to feel?
Do I let the waterfalls weep?
Will chasing the greens make me less grim?
Will staring at the skies bring the stars back into my eyes?
What progress have I made after all of these years?
Am I still unusual, quiet and mad?
Has the hater in me silently subsided?
Long overdue on the dunes from woes to womanhood,
I think that I can be an ally to myself.
Glad to still have the little vices I visit,
The potato fries,
The pumpkin spice,
A glance into his eyes,
Maybe I am just alright,
Detached from the normal ties.
A heart beating with the twinkle of the stars,
Temporary structure transformed after years of combustion.
Capable of thought, reasoning and loving,
With the flames flowing in my furrows.
I know I am fine,
I am enough,
And in the end,
I am infinite.