Faltering, fracturing, the world keeps shifting–
eye of the cyclone, a tiny cocoon
toes curled, watch the storm bloom
milliseconds till it’s just vacuum.
Broken glasses set in maroon soils
observe the lifeless remains and living corpses
aching and ailing, the promised land of Moses
closer, can you hear the drowning voices?
Watch them silently dig and mine
as they ceaselessly strip the planet bare,
trading habitats for habits that refuse to care
inching harrowingly towards disrepair.
All the warmth we lost, all the hatred we gained
succumbing to silence, evading our turn,
do you not realise we are all on the run?
Away from reality that can’t be undone.
Lying low, waiting for the storm to pass?
Beware, an eternity it may last.
So, pick up the pages, assemble the words,
let ink immortalise the forgotten chords.
The sword and the pen meet again
at the confluence of loss, love, life
and ideas that rippled through time
gently held in papers past their prime.
I ask you not why you hid behind a wall
I ask you not what took you so long
I only ask, what do you choose?
Poetry or prose?
Atreyee Bhattacharya is currently pursuing a management degree from SPJIMR, Mumbai. She writes about fantasy, reality and everything in between.
Featured image credit: Pixabay