Musings

By Saumya Tripathi

Eyes pierced through the glass ceiling of my dreams,

my mind, a podium for arbitrary thoughts,

still I wasn't a part of the extrovert's scream.

It felt catastrophic, a quiet havoc —

Am I the giraffe in a land of unending dwarfs?

The corner made the most majestic view,

Carcass cacophony — sapiens painting the room with different hues.

They call it serenity — I call it disguise.

Gentlemen in desperate need of wives

Could never fathom the fury of ice-cold women,

Holding warm tea in porcelain grace, feigning naive.

Room for many, space for none,

The lucent mind of the erudite,

Yet my eyes were stuck on Aphrodite,

Competing with the sun.

Some claim beauty, some praise brain,

How could I ever say no to the sun?

How could I ever not run along with the rain?

Shadows darker than my heaviest expectations,

Overthinking lighting up my answers

For unwelcomed derivations.

Who am I without doubt of survival,

Master of my sail or

Slave to rejuvenating revival.

By Saumya Tripathi