Monologue
I try
to fill up the void that stares at
my heart
step by step
in calculated movements
friends- family- friends again -
family again
knowing deep inside none of them
belong to me
it is a mind game
a game to fill up the void that
stares at my heart
I create memories
like stalactites and stalagmites
concrete forms like knives
I can touch
feel
the coldness of their shapes
their sharpness
sometimes breaking small pieces
and melting them
in between my palms. It is all a
mind game
game of words
like cryptic crosswords or Hangman
in the mind
to drown
the stillness that stares beyond
the sunset
as my shadow grows taller and
taller and falls
in front of me. I walk east
and deep inside I know
none of these words make any sense
severed from their contexts
from their events long enacted and
frozen
in the snow- cave hanging like
stalactites
rising like stalagmites
even if some of them melt in the
warmth between my palms
even if
some of them glitter like
sharp-edged knives
they make no sense
now
in the frozen cave
as I walk east and my shadow grows
taller and taller.
It is all a mind game to fill up
the void
to bury
the fear of the stillness
that will accompany the rise of
the oversize moon
and wake the shadows up,
an attempt to drown the loud
ringing silence that peals out
from the void of my heart
with words that make no sense now
with events that have or had
no meanings
with colours that will soon turn
colourless
with the rise of the oversize
moon.
Meanwhile
I walk east
and my shadow grows taller and
taller
This monologue by the poet Zinia Mitra touches the sensitive mind of one and all.
ReplyDeleteWonderful expression of thoughts.
Thank you.Gald that it resonated in you.
Delete12 years ago, Daphhne Merkin wrote I am lying on my back on the grass, listening to the intermittent chirping of nearby birds; my eyes are closed, the better to savor the warmth on my face. Most probably that was a musing on a journey through darkness. After going through Zinia's monologue read again the Song of Myself by Walt Whitman. Because, she create memories.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Mrinal Devbarman. I am glad that the poem spoke to you.
ReplyDelete