I Wonder

By Neeharika Mishra

I am surrounded by curse of my habit 

To grasp muses and arts of all at once 

To connect with their souls,

And to be in secluded delusions. 

I wonder who would read my habit 

After my soul departs from my body, 

And feel every bit of pauses I made, 

And to those I never uttered aloud. 

I wonder who would be kind to them, 

The diaries are more sensitive than me 

To not know more than knowing, 

And not attempt to drift towards decoding. 

I wonder if I die the next morning, 

Who would come to read the verses 

In my funeral, once the body is buried, 

And the name echoes deep beneath. 

I wonder if I would ever be an art 

The way I have felt everything as art 

Nor am I a good artist to be loved, 

And my life was all a miserable art. 

I wonder, I wonder, I wonder, 

The wondering has been ruthless, 

And has killed me more than I die,

Yet I wonder, Oh what painful bliss! 

By Neeharika Mishra