The Death of The Soul

By Aarna Sandilya

Going through storms,

She faked a smile.

Acting good enough—

For all to believe her gentle play.

Because the storm in her heart,

Had already made her dead.

The tears had already become dust,

The heart lay scorched, its fire run.

She tried—God, she tried hard,

To shield her soul from dark despair,

But she had bled too long,

And the soul grew weary, begging its rest.

She cried hard for help,

Shouted I am not fine.

But only silence answered,

And no hands reached out through the dark.

And finally when she slept in death’s embrace,

They came rushing, complaining—

Of empty heart and bloodless veins.

She smiled again—

A smile of wonder, pale, profound,

On how murderers blame the dead.

But what is blame to the dead,

For soul’s death is deaf to grief or blame.

By Aarna Sandilya