In Anticipation of the Formidable

By Malavika Rudrakumar

She knew better,

Than to let herself falter,

To the cruel words of those who failed to last,

Of those who brightened her past.

She allows herself to drown,

In the waters of misery till sundown.

Coiling into a silent embrace, feeling vexed,

She stares solemnly into the mirror, "So... what’s next?".

Her face askew, treated with contempt,

Pale and cold, her demeanour unkempt.

Tears like dew drops on a mid-summer’s day,

Adorn the gentle frame that once looked so gay.

Her countenance; distorted, unrecognizable,

Shielding all that is miserable.

The picturesque life thus hides a tragedy,

Untold, her pain shall remain a mystery.

“Ungrateful!”, they scream as she graciously complies.

Harsh truths and white lies.

Mere voices that pierce her fragmented soul,

Waiting patiently, they whisper, "her guard will fall".

Perhaps, it was a fortuitous melancholy,

Unperturbed, her soul rose from the sanguinary.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Could one look so woebegone after all?"

Her reflection scorns as she advances near.

"You only want to hear, what you wish to my dear."

"The life you lead is satisfyingly regrettable."

"Loathe oneself, sorrow is inevitable."

Deep breaths with heavy pangs,

Exasperated, she lifts the head that hangs.

"The mind, what an exquisite thing

Be it joy or grief it shall always sing."

"Chords of pain tuned to perfection,

Or tears in the rain of long-lost affection.

My child this war is far from yours to claim,

The monster inside your head isn't yours to tame."

Thin-skinned as one might seem,

She chose not to succumb and scream,

"To fall would be a grievous crime" she sighs,

"Far worse than any of my previous cries".

Frail, shrouded in uncertainty and vice,

Yet strong stood she, don't doubt her twice.

She is a calm breeze amid the raging storm,

But even the howls of the wind can change form.

By Malavika Rudrakumar