Why Do You Smile?

By Anshuman Das

It was all for the lie in her eyes

They imprisoned you.

Shook.

They are like dusty leaves strewn across an autumn path, the dance of death.

Hidden away in a corner of your consciousness.

Two years away from home, you thought you would be fine,

But you sing and you sing and you sing

And you sing,

And your throat is sore.

But I hope you’ll never be ashamed of your sore throat, the numb red in your eyes or the frenzy in your hair.

It shows you’ve been singing, and you’ve sang and sang and sang.

That lie will you ever see again?

You wonder as your fingers press onto the frets, the receiver of your constant abuse.

The reservoir of your pain and whatever else

That remains.

As the piano goes out of tune and the sun cries and sheds its pain,

Your eyes open, you’re going home again.

By Anshuman Das