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The Voice

The Voice

1 min


Be quiet, be still

Witness wilderness be tranquil


A whisper, a sound

Deafening in the quiet ground

Hoarse as if unused

Hesitant as if fearing to be eschewed

Mayhap a touch familiar

Or strange altogether

See around,

Nothing but flowing green unbound

So what made the sound?

Better yet who made the sound?

Close your eyes

Let the eyelashes kiss in broad daylight

There's that voice again

A silent plea awash with pain

Unbridled it screams

Upon realizing that someone's listening

A volcano of ignorance

Explodes shocking the ambiance

Endless hurt

Bubbles forward

Uncountable insults

Frothily bursts

Unimaginable humiliation

Painfully burns

Helplessly the voice unloads all

Bringing attention to many faults

Eventually, it gentles

Yet now nothing is simple and subtle

Faced with sins committed

Against our own self

By no one

Just to please those who are unimportant

The tranquility now babels

The wilderness suffocates

The profundity of self-harm percolates

Rendering speechless

Abused and neglected, yet the voice now tries to sooth

Forgiving its tormentor oddly soon

Armed with forgiveness

Along with the new knowledge

Try to curb the want to please others

While inner peace suffers

Try to listen some more

It never will guide you offshore

Try to be the wilderness

Imperfect but still abashed about self

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More english poem from Mrunalini Deonikar