Vulnerabilities

By Sudhansu Thongam

I could break free,

Only if the sky wasn't a bigger cage.

My mind is a graveyard of questions

That never found an answer.

Air is merely a boat

Surfing through the lungs,

Eyes are the tasteless sea of words,

Sight is merely the wounds of every blink.

Hands are sculpture of the heart,

And too are hearts of the blank papers.

Lifeless fingerprints and veins,

My fingers are guns of which silence is the gunshot,

Of which intentions are wounds.

Every pattern on my body is meaningless,

My inner voice hasn't a sound.

And my spine is knife.

I see hope, but I don't see one,

The absence of presence—

The presence of absence.

The burning light is far away,

It's within my chest.

In solitude I know a friend,

Until it ignores me too.

My hands feel like knives—

Whenever I seal the wound.

By Sudhansu Thongam