Inner Cry Poem by Mahathi Mydavolu

INNER CRY
I walked for long under the greeting stars,
through fanning woods and on the silent hills.
It's all the same for heart with bleeding scars
of buried wounds behind a thousand sills.

Scorned memories are shameless customers.
They keep revisiting my censored muse.
The scarecrow planted at my heart, stammers
too low, as green pods fall for plumage hues.

The frantic mind-monkey switches the boughs
with baby thoughts nestled to bosom her
to shun the scrolling past on garden brows
and body seeks succour from deep slumber.

But wish, that day, when all my struggles cease,
I'm covered by a pall of memories.