Ticking Spills

By Sristy Sharma (Vnée)

It was just another day, 

and it was just another moment; 

There was nothing new, 

not even the song that triggered the meltdown, 

But even before the verse ended

I went from dancing bub to a crying mess. 

I tried, like always, to reign in 

and I managed, like always, to spill some and stop. 

But, like always, it was the following that hurt 

…the introspection, the realization, 

the perpetual cycle of free fall that I am a part of. 

Often in these moments, I wish to cry again, 

just for once to tip the glass and empty it all out; 

though I know it will be full again, 

and someday again it would overflow,

but I fear the day it will sabotage me. 

One day I will be among when it overflows, 

and even though momentary, then it will be a performance; 

leaving me to pick myself up 

among the piercing gazes, and questioning glances. 

It is always a free-fall, 

for no safety mattress was designed for me, 

but at least it is only me who has ever witnessed my dismantling, 

and I am afraid that after an audience,

I will not make it back, 

even to the sorry excuse of the stone tower that I keep rebuilding. 

But however much I try, the glass doesn’t heed,

after the panicky reigns in, it keeps refusing to spill; 

nailed or glued, I have no idea, 

or maybe forgot, 

but it keeps assuring better management, 

it keeps promising that next time it won’t let go. 

After sometime, like always, I give in, 

left to pity the shell, the bearer, and the borne, 

and dread the doom of all, 

all that is me. 

By Sristy Sharma (Vnée)