The Self In Solitude Poem by ashok jadhav

When voices fade and footsteps drift away,
I meet the one who waits behind my days.
No role is left to practice or perform,
No borrowed tone to steady what I say.
The room grows honest in its quiet breath,
And I grow present to my unmasked mind.
Here, thoughts emerge without their usual guard,
Old fears speak freely, hopes forget their pose.
I hear the questions long delayed by noise,
And feel the weight of choices not yet made.
This self, unnamed by crowds or daily needs,
Steps forward, fragile, altered, yet intact.
Solitude does not erase who I am;
It strips me down to what I cannot flee.