New Moon

I feel a tug and my heart sinks
Pulled hither and thither
While I wilt and wither
I plunge down to the deepest darkest crevasses of ancient sea caves.

Whence came this tug, I cannot say
For all the reasons I may have, nothing shouts immediate
As my energy saps away, I make my dwelling
In the sad and turbulent part of the boat
To make up for the stillness that lies below
Which can’t even begin to propel
But could only float
On the dark waters that have surrendered a long time ago.

I hold myself together, in fear
That my limbs would fall off or
My organs would succumb to gravity
I seek quiet and dark corners
For lights could blind me and
Sounds could puncture my hollow depravity.

Every single thing is too much
Too much light, too much sound
Too much dark, too much motion
Too many people.

I wish I was in a vacuum,
Of perfect stillness.
Beyond time.
A rock in space
Somebody’s moon.

There is an itch under the skin
In need of escape velocity
Absence of fuel, however
A crippling sensitivity.

Pronounced are the absences
On the sea bed of memories
Waiting for the waves now
To break through my mossy-stone machinery.

They will come, I am sure of that
Waxing and Gibbous will happen, promising
a fuller you,
lifting me higher than I’ve ever been
You, my own personal moon.

D. Bhaskar holds a diploma in filmmaking and is from Bihar. He has never been published before, nor is he a poet. He is managing his bipolar disorder.

Featured image credit: Pixabay