Hanging On

By Swati Joshi

Hanging by a thin thread of theatrical life,

it is the second hand of misery.

Experiences for the first instance aren’t mine

but in a very close limit of even less than a digit.

It makes my heart iron melt away with a block.

I cry because I can’t see anymore, it’s contagious.

Losing your loved one, fear of losing your loved one

You can’t delude someone into thinking they are well.

You can’t enchant the home of enchantress.

There is no reassurance, there is no hope.

Your love is too heavy for not to feel the loss.

Bring me cakes of ultra faith.

I am desperate and that is what can bring

me back into sphere of life.

I am not only apparently stuck in the hands of grief.

I am being played by it.

While I hug her, pat her, fix her hair,

she fades away slowly.

While I held myself back, hours passed away.

I can’t compare , empathy holding me back.

But I hope she loves the likes of her

I hope she doesn’t break the mirror.

I raised my voice to make her stand her ideas

but she left my grasp, ran away in hiding.

I have left the door open.

I am ready with the tissue in my hand

to wipe the tears clean.

She has locked herself in a cage,

I look up at the sun,

I look up at the bright light,

May the support to tumbling bridges be bestowed.

I hope , because that is the only thing I can.

Bring your buckets, I will show you the amount of tears that I can shed.

But don’t bring your heart , I might not be able to hold it close.

Her laughter vibrated in my senses.

Relief lies prostate in front of me.

By Swati Joshi