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Poetry by Sindhu Verma

Lost and Found
Burn Along
Published January 11, 2017


Something or someone,
Has yet again maimed the Sun.
Hapless, it falls and glides,
Down the demon's throat
Dark, slippery, unending
Bleeding all the way.
Rays of darkness
Unfurl and burst out.
One viciously shoots
Right into the heart,
From where I am beckoned,
To close up, to recede,
To descend the same old steps;
Into the derelict dungeons;
Where I could get locked up.
Or get unlocked;
I could eke out ghosts of the past,
And draw apparitions of the future;
I could unearth Gods of strength;
I could worship them,
Or bury them back;
I could run hands over the rugged clotted wounds;
I could soothe them;
Or rake them;
I could recall and relive and recreate pain;
I could convulse with it;
Or reconcile with it;
Or quell it.
It is all upon me and also me;
It is between me and me.
Which of me will have my way?
And what way will that be?
I assume to arbitrate but,
Am I the sanest amongst all of me?
Let the doors to the prison stay closed.
Yet again, I am in parley with myself.


The earth cracks up;
Reveals a crevice
And the tiny green hood
Of the creature
That was born within;
Has ensconced itself;
Ramified and spread,
With its sprawling roots,
Deep, thick and bulgy.
Beneath the tiny green hood,
A hungry creeper awakens.
It is ambitious and presumptuous;
Feeds on the insides,
And crawls on the outside,
Grazing and groveling.
It grows onto your hand
You had held out only to toy
With its flimsy sensitive tendrils
Which now ingratiate
And warp around your stiff fingers.
It grows onto your feet
As you stood there
Only to be a spectator,
It knots around your legs
Attempts to tie you up,
Restricts your freedom.
Its arms still lengthening,
Still groping,
Have clutched you
As they run across your chest,
Around your waist,
Unaware that you are free
That you have a mind of your own;
Unaware that you had been
Only mocking its idiosyncrasies.
You had felt good when
It fumbled and found you
And to know it can thrive
Only by embracing you.
It is only irksome now
In trying to own you.
You have no use for it any more.
And so, it is time
To shake off the fetters.
To sneeze off the malady;
To uncurl those silly tendrils,
And let them dangle.
It is time to tear apart
The rampant tangled mess;
To burn it down;
To stomp over it;
And to extricate yourself.
The gaping crevice it would leave,
Will be sealed with cement.
The roots will die and shrink
And be entombed within.
You will shrug and walk away
And find another plaything.  

Lost and Found

Lushness peeled off and cleft,
Buoyed and spun with
The ebbs, surges, tides and currents.

Wisdom, once the best friend
Lay stacked away
Underneath dusts of oblivion.

Fragrance retreated,
And hid flattened between pages
Of a forgotten diary.

Radiance that strung all together
Broke off from the strand
And was lost to the seas.

Severed from the life and spirit,
The crux, the savour and the love,
All seemed lost.

The hands fumbled blindly for long
And having failed in the find,
They hung loose.

Then tired, when the eyes started closing
Something slid into the hollow of the fist,
Something that beat in resonance with the heart.

Feeling the persistent throbbing of my own vein.
I awakened and found me;
I found me and awakened.


Sadness is not an enemy.
It is the goad and fuel to the fire.
Which fortitude cups its hands around
To countervail the dark running amok
Eager to stomp out light with its shadows.
The fire shines on the silver lining
Crouching underneath even the gloomiest of clouds;
And allows the unflinching vision
Past the knotted lashes and mangy hope
Into the colors of the rainbow.
The fire is waiting for a whiff of wind
For it to flare up and illuminate
The face seared by tears.
Sadness is not an enemy.
It is the goad and fuel to the fire
Which smolders silently and persistently
To warm and soothe the night.
That fire will eventually turn into the day.

Burn Along

If you had been a pretty doll of wax
Which froze behind a glass wall
With folded hands and a painted smile,
They would have adored you;
Guarded your delicate form and poise;
And kept you right in front of their eyes.
But you chose to be a somber candle
Warped around a persevering wick;
You chose to be lit to light up their lives.
And burned with hope and grace.
You burned even when they blithely walked away.
Hot tears trickled down your dissolving face.
But there were no hands to wipe them.
Your flame writhed and struggled.
But there were no hands to guard it.

Sindhu Verma: I live in Bangalore, India and work in a multinational
semiconductor company as a wireless systems engineer. I love working on
technology but also have a keen interest in literature and fashion. I write
poems and design and stitch clothes outside my working hours. I want to
eventually pursue a career in poetry and fashion as well.  My poems are
heartfelt and personal and they carry my thoughts and feelings about the
world around me.

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