My Light Is Spent.. Poem by Malvika Hasrajani

Painless despair..is it really though..? I can't decide just yet, I got some time to spare..I think..

The warmth of the morning sunshine still felt like the soundless wake up call..

Unseen now..I think I am still asleep.. but my eyes.. my eyes decided to play ‘blindfold' with me, and see how loyal? ! The game was for ‘the rest of my life'..

My first steps, off the bed, on the hardwood floor, made me feel like a stroll through the dense woods.. is this how Tarzan enjoyed his time? oh, I guess this is more Jane's plied..

The sound of the shower feels like it's the pitter-patter of the rain, enthralling through my brain..and the sense of warm water tricking down my spine.. should I wish to take the blindfold off? Or just grasp and embrace the gorgeous might?

My sweater..it crackles.. its crackles on the way down my waist..like it's the night when a thousand fire flies are here to mate..

So should I be wearing black or something bolder! ? When my eyes have chosen their favourite colour?

My light is spent..

The desperate, edgy silence of these corneal screens, it's violent.. it's brutal.. the blinded storytellers now neglect to achieve attention and awe.. but, memories remain.. and only the ode to the hush of my glinting eyes gets retained..

Oh! ! There he is, the apple of my left over marbles of eyes.. cracking up eggs for me, and the sizzle of bacon and the warm milk.. I can hear his smile broaden on the sight of me.. Does he deserve the bad news at this hour of wee?

Did he always smell like a meadow of orchids near a stable, the tenderness in his masculinity? Or is it just this blindfold playing tricks on me?

My light is feeble..

oh, no! !

My light is spent..

I know my thoughts are scattered all over the place, too much perplexity and many doubts..

It's like my flashlight has decided to betray me amidst a haunted house..

Can you sense my restlessness? Or can you feel the pain leaving my flesh? Can you see the acceptance of the dark black canvas, that just got newly stretched?

Well, I can.. and I can hear the melody of the crisp strokes of the brushes, painting me a new picture that I can feel even in the mushes..

..tap

Tap..

.. tap..

The sound of my greatness..my walk into the future, and I have assistance now, the white stick is my navigator..

Odes and epics will be felt, lived and heard, but..

..will always be unseen!

Because, my light is spent…