DESPAIR

In a forest that I’ve wandered long enough
to know the paths I’ve strayed in,
mapping lines of this drawn reality,
shedding them in remains
that flare up in flames of a fire
that wishes to be quelled
Do I find myself to (un)cover,
the truths we deny
the one we know,
but refuse to (un) hide

Insecurities,
some even, bigger
which we let them loose hanging by in threads of fear,
we spiral in a web of denial
falling in the circuitous essence of—
the places we emphatically try to fit in,
the people we choose to obsess over,
in an envy that places itself convincingly,
betwixt the pages
stitched with our fears, consternation
looming over ambitions
we make, we dream

Dwelling on the inside,
it becomes our homestead—
to breed issues that are
so deeply rooted, self involved,
making us the residents of
a dense forest we’ve been wandering
without knowing for so long

Glued to our (un)healthy attachments,
the sentiments we try to deflect from;
they seep in as long as we can remember;
they stain our paths,
where we become the refugees,
seeking for shelter in our very own skin
until our bones deteriorate,
until they give up to function at all—
of a seemingly ageless body
the one we believe to breathe in,
in attachments of a dotage we have been caged in;
lastly finding them in our bygones,
the past we’ve caved in
while wandering in this forest, the one we’ve been strangled along for far too long

Perhaps,
nobody can recognise themselves anymore;
only to find they were never this broken,
trapped in their chests and bodies,
are they, weighed heavy by the fibs once told
in sizes of their hands,
which are unable to sense belief they once laid in,
finding themselves lost in a night of a dense forest that sleeps deeply,
they are unhinged—
in wake of the places they try to fit in,
in wake of the people they choose to love,
in clutches of despair,
they’ve named and known almost forever,
in search of—trying to (un)leash something,
once known to be forgotten.

– Shweta Kher

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