Sunday 15 August 2021
Anjali Manhas, Poetry 2021 Featured Writer
THE LAMENT OF A MUSE
One day he will come soaked in guilt
Trampling the walls, I heartily built
Severing every bond, I had held to the ground
In order to statuette me in an iron clad mound
Affectionately calling me his muse
Abjecting the tears rolling down the face
My sinister laugh of a definite ruse
Chiming its way out without any trace
He marks the beauty, it’s every layer
Naming the carves on the bodice
Sculpting my pains for people to stare
I turn mute for the formidable spears
Capitulating to the staple whims
Compiling the thoughts and sending them into an abyss
Walls cave in and darkness stiffens
The yonder yelps of yearning staggers
He will tell how I moved him
I will remember how I never set a foot ahead,
channelling my thoughts on a thorny bed.
A soul full of desperation,
Residing in a body which serves as inspiration
I remain the hollow shell,
And he blows his breathe and gave voices to me,
Then claim that I have music in me,
The music I never heard, the voices I never spoke.
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