Choked Desolation
Reshma Anil Kumar | 12-05-2023
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Locked in fog,
So thick it looks painted on me
In the color of dread,
Even I can't see myself,
Trembling out of fear or frost
In that jolly-looking mask of paint,
Hiding the 'me'
In that pretty little cave.
Actually, the leaky little cave.
The Mask? The Cave? The Fog?
All so cold and dry,
Except for the tears, bitter in torment,
I never knew,
Choking and leaking off 'me',
Blanketing and stinging my fingers
Smeared in cold
Numb in the chill,
Closing on 'me',
Coloured in terror,
Dimly longing for warmth
For home...
But afraid all the same
Afraid to leave the Fog
Out of the Cave,
Called the Closet.
Locked in fog painted on me
In the color of dread
Conditioned to hide in the leaky little cave,
Unbeknown to my right to venture beyond,
Of the light beyond
I stand weary and drained
From the agony
Of the rejection of 'me'
Chaining me to the Fog,
Remote and deserted
Obscuring 'me', forsaken and despondent,
Trembling in that jovial mask of paint
Only to ask, "Why?"
With an answer as foggy
And blue as the Closet,
The only home for 'me'.