Solipsism

By Diya Biswal

A cat writes

with all its might,

truths beyond its understanding. 

Alone it is standing 

in the land full of blind,

with the ink and the mind

sentimenting wist,

dearly missed. 

It scribbles not for meaning

but for release,

each line a quiet yowl

that no one answers.

The paper bends like bones beneath fur,

its claws dipped in memory,

pulling shadows from corners

no one looks at.

It writes for the stillness,

for the echo it knows will not return.

There’s no audience,

only dust, a breeze,

and the fading scent of somewhere 

it once belonged.

Still, it writes.

Not to be heard,

but to stay whole,

to keep the silence from swallowing

what little light remains.

Because even a forgotten creature

deserves to be known,

even if only

by its own ink.

By Diya Biswal