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The Cold Spring


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. 

 

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