The Fifth Note

By Kamna Nanda

My hands have grown thick and rugged

Because of my straining muscles

Pages after pages I have filled

And no answer to the questions I asked

Have come from within.

The God inside me

Is not omniscient or independent

He needs help of a bigger God.

A godlier God.

Independence term was coined by two people.

The unwilling Saint, too shy of a responsibility of another being.

And the reckless destructive man wanting no blames for the ashes that his flames caused.

And I’m the nylon soaked in water

Independent people find me annoying

Cannot be used easy

Cannot be burnt easy

My nails have turned pale

Because of the untracked activities I performed unwatched by the world

But, not all the hard work I did in silence

Led to success

No strength, glory or peace came out of it

My expectations grew heavier

And my voice muffled beneath it

There are two advocates of silence

The unsure ignorant monk,

Too afraid of being wrong

And the insecure timid terrorist,

Afraid of his terror being taken lightly.

And I’m the hum sound of Om

The fifth note of the octave

The advocates of silence

Do not go well with me.

My veins are prominent

And scar marks are plenty

Lotions and lotions I have applied

But the justice to my skin is still awaited

For the sufferings it endured

The pain I went through did not make me a diamond

Because, later I found out

Abuse and discipline are not soulmates

There are two lovers of pain

The passive ungrateful taker who enjoys taking everything and so the pain

And the aggressive resentful giver who has given too much to let go without giving the pain away

And I’m a dough of flour

Sadomasochists find me boring

I do not suit their pride

Or lack thereof.

Underskin of my eye has developed creases

Because of keeping my lids too low

From the pressure of taking criticism

So that I could become exactly what a critic wants me to be

And none of what I decided to be

Sant Kabir did not tell me that not every fault finder was my friend

But the slow extinguisher of the light of my soul

And not every blame you take makes you humble and big hearted

Humility was invented by two people

One was the lazy teacher with no time for their students

And the other was the jealous underachiever marveled with the successes

And I am an unfinished piece of art

And the inventors of humility

Cannot let me be done

Or let me just be.

By Kamna Nanda