She floats down a strip of gray

Unaware of it all

Her dance as light as a fairy’s wingbeat

Her music, like a thorn;

A piercing din

A deafening silence

A life of misery & pain.

“It’s simple”, they say,

“She forgot her place,

Her punishment will be a constant tearstain.”

Yet her face was bliss

Her love, untouched

But even the smile on her face

Was a useless crutch.

She danced faster now

With a fury, it seems

The scars on her wrist

She could still see the blood gleam.

Her thoughts ran a marathon

And fought a war at the same

“Why must you be silent?”

Is the question, they would claim.

Me being like this?

It’s an answer you should know

I sing myself secret songs

Before the rooster crows.

They say thoughts are the loudest silence

Then why is this my loudest scream?

These screams of midnight moon, unheard

Will be seen, within a dream.


~Trina Ghosh

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