Language Of The Dead

By Harshita Mishra

I was so brave,

I knew I wouldn't win but I still fought the war,

I decorated my wounds with glitter and cotton balls ,

I framed my sorrow to hang on the empty wall ,

I burned my fear to warm their wondering souls 

and I stand still in that windy brood,

 in a way, surrendering to God;

Even plucking a flower could hurt me easily but this day

 I plucked thousands of thorns

Love, passion, peace, I can envision a life filled with all- 

I can envision it so vividly but I won't 

As it all comes in a chapter of Dreams

Which I haven't dared to open for so long 

Because "What once died should stay in the grave" they say

But they also say how I was so brave 

while I couldn't even die for myself.

By Harshita Mishra