Whispers of Solitude, Shadows of Melancholy
Those days of solitude were the best,
When I heard the voice within -
When I knew what I wanted,
And what I had to give.
The world was quiet, free of the clutter of voices,
No echoes to drown my thoughts.
Silence stood by my side.
I had no need to think of those
If I ever had hurtful memories.
When I blew the candle, it would go out -
But sometimes, its rebellious flame
Took two or three breaths more to yield.
Even a candle can resist.
Amid the rush of chores,
Errands to complete,
People to care for,
A job to uphold,
And vacation stories waiting to be told,
I would sit by the window,
Watching the birds sing.
A tiny bird would cling to its mother,
While clouds wove patterns in the sky,
Shifting colours with the passing light.
Rainbows glistened through falling raindrops.
The earth soaked the rain -
Sometimes nurturing, sometimes destructive.
The wind brushed past me,
Like the embrace of a soldier,
Long absent, now returned.
The voices of loved ones soothed me,
As did the meals on the table,
The cool water quenching my thirst.
I ended my fasts with tearful, soulful prayers,
Grateful for my people,
Grateful for the contentment
Of standing with those
Who expected nothing in return.
When people spoke of peace,
I knew I lived it every day.
I had the blessings of the Lord,
Luxuries others only dreamed of-
Yet something felt absent.
Where is that little chamber in my heart
Where peace once resided?
I look at the sky and the rainbows,
The birds that sing,
The rain tracing patterns on the glass.
My breath now feels heavy,
Drenched in melancholy.
This or that-I tried to find the cause.
It wasn’t any tangible loss.
It wasn’t something I yearned to buy.
It wasn’t a position I vied for,
Or the people who chose to walk away.
It wasn’t the weather,
Or a season I couldn’t bear.
It wasn’t the taste of food
That felt dull on my plate,
Nor the flowers I no longer saw.
It wasn’t a voice I once longed to hear,
Or the smiles of familiar faces,
Now faded into memory.
It wasn’t the warmth of a sweater,
Now grown cold,
Or perfumes that lost their magic.
It wasn’t the absence of hands once held,
Now slipping into emptiness.
No, it wasn’t this or that.
And after a long, silent pause,
I found the answer-
I handed myself to someone
Who is still around, but doesn’t cherish me,
The way I ever yearned to be held.
