Title: "The Sound I Cannot Escape" Poem by ashok jadhav

(The speaker stands in a dimly lit room, walls lined with remnants of old photographs and letters. A faint ticking clock is the only other sound. Their voice wavers between anger, sorrow, and resolve.)
I have danced around it long enough.
Hid behind smiles that weren't mine.
Clutched at illusions,
like a drowning man clinging to driftwood,
hoping—hoping—that the water might forgive him.
But the music is playing.
Yes… it has been playing all along,
in every whispered doubt,
in every night I pretended to sleep,
in every mirror that refused to lie.
I thought if I ignored it,
if I covered my ears,
it would vanish.
That reality could be postponed
like an unwelcome guest at the door.
But the music does not wait.
It crescendos in the silence I thought was mine.
I have hidden behind excuses,
behind laughter, behind "tomorrow."
But the melody mocks me.
It knows my secrets.
It knows my failures.
And it calls me by name.
So I stand here, trembling,
because the time has come—
I must face it.
Not tomorrow, not when the heart is steadier,
but now.
I must step into the truth I have fled,
into the reckoning I have denied.
What is left, when illusions crumble?
A hollow chamber echoing with mistakes,
with words unsaid,
with promises broken.
I must walk into that emptiness,
listen to its song,
and carry it with me.
Yes… I will face the music.
I will taste the bitter note of reality,
I will feel its sting against my skin,
and I will not turn away.
For to flee is to live a lie.
To hide is to die in fragments.
The music demands acknowledgment,
and I—however fractured—
will answer.
(Pauses, takes a deep breath, voice softens but grows resolute.)
Let it play.
Let it consume the air between my regrets and my hope.
I am here.
I will face it.
And when the final chord fades,
I will still be standing.
(The speaker exhales, almost whispering.)
Because only by facing the music
can I ever hope to find my own song again.