Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Adreyo Sen


I am a silence. To myself,
the infinite loudness of my pain.
No one can hear me.
No one knows where I am,
so deeply I lie within myself.

Were I the weakest iris on a lonely crag,
it would not matter
that the stars could not burn my sorrow.
A shadow in their severe beauty,
I could find myself
a mute loveliness.

But the stars are far
from where I am.
No light reaches me
save that with which I seek
to at last
make the world see me.


Leave a Reply

Related Posts

%d bloggers like this: