Flames of Memory

By Pratishtha Kumari

The intensity of my solitude amazes me,

It won’t let me sleep, nor gives me strength to wake.

Each day it holds me in a strange, silent wrath,

A fear eternal, one that never seems to fade.

My eyes are weary, sleep eludes me at every turn,

This restlessness has become the grief of my daily life.

How strange are these things that accompany me,

My loneliness profound, and pain my constant companion.

I admit, I have called it the conspiracy of my solitude,

Yet still, I live through the flames of these memories. Flames of memory:

The intensity of my solitude amazes me,

It won’t let me sleep, nor gives me strength to wake.

Each day it holds me in a strange, silent wrath,

A fear eternal, one that never seems to fade.

My eyes are weary, sleep eludes me at every turn,

This restlessness has become the grief of my daily life.

How strange are these things that accompany me,

My loneliness profound, and pain my constant companion.

I admit, I have called it the conspiracy of my solitude,

Yet still, I live through the flames of these memories.

By Pratishtha Kumari