F I C T I O N – P O E T R Y
Charushila Bhaswati
In the spring of 2021,
Flowers invigorated and showed their faces
Not to commemorate new beginnings,
But to remind me of the same old lonesome cave
That I can’t seem to come back from.
In the spring of 2021,
I look at the sun and try to reach its warmth
But the more I yearn, the more I feel colder.
This numbing ice that I can’t seem to melt,
Makes me want to dream of being Icarus.
The only difference between us,
He flew too close to the sun
and fell into the engulfing sea
And I,
I’m looking for the sun to save me
From drowning in my own morbid agony.
In this spring of 2021,
I am still fighting the drought inside me
And I’m tired of trying to fill the void
with every breath I take.
Sleepless nights dig the holes in me even deeper
And I worship the surreal reality
That one day, my spring will come
When I will be drifted into sleep unintentionally.
Charushila remains a mystery unless she wants to be unravelled.