The Unspoken

By Anwesh Sharma

The letters unspoken, the words unheard,

Had seamed like as if it was a sound of a love.

But, the quiet peace was what I heard,

Amidst the pieces of wound and blood.

The witty murmur is what she owns,

Beneath her lonely silent tone.

No lad’s questioned, beyond his books,

About his world’s imagery outlook.

Is it a ritual to welcome the scandal,

By placing the hands behind the candle?

Or is it an outrage for fifteen days,

That slowly melts like candle fades?

Covering the fear with mere innocence

Is not a courage, but an unfair dissonance

Stop!

Stop, calling cowardice as triumph of tranquillity,

Just be an individual who questions captivity.

By Anwesh Sharma