Voices Within: Megha Sood

Megha Sood is an Award-winning Asian American Poet, Editor, Author, Literary Activist from New Jersey, USA. Recipient of 2021 Poet Fellowship from MVICW (Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creating Writing) and a National Level Winner for the 2020 Poetry Matters Project. Recipient of “Certificate of Excellence” from Mayor, Jersey City. Associate Poetry Editor Literary Journals Mookychick (UK), Life and Legends (USA), and Literary Partner with “Life in Quarantine”, Stanford University. Author of Chapbook (“My Body is Not an Apology”, Finishing Line Press, 2021) and Full Length (“My Body Lives Like a Threat”, FlowerSongPress,2022). She blogs at https://meghasworldsite.wordpress.com/ and tweets at @meghasood16.

Treacherous Dune

Memories slip on the silent back of the dunes

those shape-shifting sands

are treacherous you see

as they promise you an eternity

till the next whiff of the fleeting wind

that catches their attention

dancing and glimmering;

in the hot sweltering heat of the sun

they morph and mold to please

the voluptuous calls of the breeze

echoes of the silence,

bouncing back for eons

hopes for the company

the scorched backs of dunes

are then soothed by the shifty-eyed moon

that bathes them with their silvery moonlight

secretly wishing to rest 

in its warm bosom

but come morning

it gives in to the aubade 

of the warm clasp of the wind

and there it goes,

following the wind

in a wink.

***

Abandoned

They say prayer cleanse your soul

but the mention of your conversation with God

will make their heads turn and eyes roll.

I say my prayer twice a day,

I go to church to absolve my sins

and redeem my faith in the light

the pristine light of the church,

laced with love and laughter.

 

But I see an abandoned nest

curious to know the meaning of life

I pranced further,

and saw the broken egg by the window frame.

How sacred is the egg when it's broken?

Does it still hold the secret of life

and the mysteries,

or lose it all of a sudden?

My body disguised as a prayer

with its bent back and stooped shoulder

sits in the pew

and asks for forgiveness.

To redeem my soul

it seeks salvation,

while the yellow yolk is dripping

life losing its meaning again

on the gelid church floor.

***

Oblivion

Nothing sits silently

on the edges of darkness

even the fleeting wings of the wind

leaves indelible marks on

the underbelly of crimson maple leaves

Everything is anointed by the silence

even the thin blade of the grass

encumbered by the frozen tears of the winters

dies a muted death

Nothing is ever lost in time

as it neatly stores the memories in its crevices

like the damp leaves sunken 

on the floor of the black forest

once donning the mighty

bough of that boisterous chestnut

now carrying the stench in their hearts

Nothing is left untouched

even the dying serrated ends of my

white lilies in the bright crimson vase

have tasted the nectarine

a sweet touch of togetherness;

clutched in the warm supple fingers of my lover

Nothing remains unscathed

even the bare outline on the drying bench

after the downpour,

carries the sweet remembrance

of our love and its evanescence.

Oblivion is a word foreign to nature.

***  

---

Setu, February 2022