Did It Really Belong To Me? Poem by Pinaki Dewan

Whispering lights, shelter me, from silence's tangible smoke:
In the hassle of my broken limbs, I have to turn myself into a joke.

The moonlit fog falls while I crack into bits of my own lies;
Liniments don't work here, limpid tears get clouded soon, and nothing flies.

Emollient pain, you have done enough for the mind, now please-
If sleep doesn't get spread, there will be, in its place, a disease.

And every time there's a price upon your life, Dew,
You try to throw it away, as if it never, even for once, belonged to you.