Anjali Manhas, Poetry 2021 Featured Writer

THE LAMENT OF A MUSE


One day he will come soaked in guilt

Trampling the walls, I heartily built

Severing every bond, I had held to the ground

In order to statuette me in an iron clad mound

Affectionately calling me his muse

Abjecting the tears rolling down the face

My sinister laugh of a definite ruse

Chiming its way out without any trace


He marks the beauty, it’s every layer

Naming the carves on the bodice

Sculpting my pains for people to stare

I turn mute for the formidable spears

Capitulating to the staple whims

Compiling the thoughts and sending them into an abyss

Walls cave in and darkness stiffens

The yonder yelps of yearning staggers


He will tell how I moved him

I will remember how I never set a foot ahead,

channelling my thoughts on a thorny bed.

A soul full of desperation,

Residing in a body which serves as inspiration

I remain the hollow shell,

And he blows his breathe and gave voices to me,

Then claim that I have music in me,

The music I never heard, the voices I never spoke.