She sits by the bark of a broken tree,
equating her loss to ride her pensive state of mind

Underneath the vaulted sky,
she softly hums the tune of agony
Resilient as ever;
She mouths in mournful silence, of days, she regrettably remembers

Her face folds in creases made of tangible lines,
older than they appear to be—
like crow’s feet, near those eyes,
they draw glint of every sadness and affliction ever known to mankind

Bare and bleak,
they seem like the branch of the broken tree she sits by
coddling herself to the sweet song of a broken melody

The air is wet and nippy,
Dipped in moist as her face,
waiting on time to heal her wounds,
over days that were lost to lachrymose and pain
Cut those wounds deep open. Time shall heal
She sits for hours by the bark of a broken tree

To heal the wounds that have been inflicted over the loss of a ravaged war, fought and torn within herself There waits an empty house—
attaching to the girth of her hapless tale of sorrow,
countless teachings that have equipped her with a stronger heart and head
She, is, the resilient one

Her face is a shade of yellow from the moonlight falling,
She recalls her maddest moments;
chortling laughter and the confound pain thereafter
She departures from her mixed emotional rollercoaster ride—
which takes her to the many highs and lows she has known and the bygones that are now fading,
into a distant past of a blurry vision,
Indeed, so long to be forgotten

The memory of her pain has receded into nothingness and numbness;
Yet those fleeting moments are a reminder,
as they scornfully visit her to some long lost feeling she once succumbed to;
But now, she is braver than ever,
For this heart is a resilient one

She, now, knows the scabs of her wounds healing,
Her broken heart still beats,
Her eyes shimmer in the light of the moon which stages the center of the sky,
with a sad and hopeful crescent shaped smile,
wayworn to the closing of a starless night
She gapes at a distance
with no recourse to remorse
And a heart, perhaps, that has nothing to lose.

– Shweta Kher


  1. davidjhopcroft · May 8, 2019

    When my father passed away I made the point at his memorial service that we should not be consumed by grief for what we had lost but should celebrate what he gave us. In some ways there were moments in your poem that reminded me of this. Thank you for a delightful poem.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Shweta Kher · May 8, 2019

      Thank you for sharing this. I feel immense pleasure in knowing that my piece has touched you in a way and rehashed moments you hold dear. It is beyond flattering.


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