Where The Past Still Finds Me
By Vusurumarthi. Akshaya Srija
How would I escape when my sheets are covered
by blood of tears,
by the flow of undeserved hate,
by the sense of melting away from the past I ran away?
Why it’s coming behind me
with a flash of memory
I buried deeply in my bones?
Why my skin senses unusual memories,
opening each pore forcefully?
…Why it’s haunting me
in my nights,
making me wake at every 4am?
Why it’s breaking down
even when I thought I got out of it?
Why my eyes are growling in sleep
without my sense?
Why my nights are filled
with the difficulty to breathe?
Why I’m fighting just to breathe
where I have a beautiful life?
Why each muscle tells me
to rip my heart out?
Why every nerve makes this pain
like a slow poison?
Why can’t I make myself home?
Why I feel like I’m melting
like a candle in the fear of past?
Just to wear a mask to be known by all, but to none.
When the world simplifies traumas,
you think you’ll be normalised by people
who can’t even dare to experience
the things that happened.
I know I can pass this time.
It’s never easy, but not impossible.
Still I hope one day
the bleeding stops,
blood becomes warm,
and my eyes shed tears
for how far I’ve come.
The home I know,
one day I’ll break it into pieces,
build again with the real me—
a home that no longer opens its gates
to the demons of my mind.
The home where I paint with hopes,
not with blood.
The home where there is a room
for every emotion I suppressed.
The home where I can hug my younger self
and tell her I’m proud.
The home she ever dreamt of,
the home she deserves. the title for his poem
Why my dreams still finding their way out
just to feel the cruelty of The roots that betrayed me ?
Why every time I forgive their mistakes
they drag me back into stories
that made me vulnerable?
How The silent witness feels everything
when The shadows i came from doesn’t even know what that means?
Why I’m shredding my tears
for the things that I can’t change?
Why to expect others when
your own abandoned me long away?
The home which longing for love since its birth,
the home which craving for the care
she never got,
the home which searching affection
in everything she sees
By Vusurumarthi. Akshaya Srija
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