Sometimes, I hover like a stranger to my own life.
I believe, I’m still an outsider
if I see an empty space
it takes me there and fills me in.
At other times, it’s nothing there,
I feel a queasy aloneness in my room
silence is still around.
Darkness slips into the corridor.
the passage mirror distorts my face.
Someone spits on the garden wall.
someone tears the canvas on the stand.
How easy to cry alone,
how hard it is to face what comes after.
I do not have something like steel or courage inside me.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.
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