back inside to the darkness

What landed this broken in my dark pocket? This is a gruesome cartoon. Something in me lies splattered in my hand and I’m not sure what. As I hold this broken thing in my hand. At a dark intersection I took it out and stared at her scarred face in the shadows. I am not quite sure what it means but it’s something. His song has stopped. Her reign has ended or been interrupted perhaps by a wrath that not even she can cross. But more I feel just a collapse that ends things by simply slipping away. The way roots and flowers no one saw disappear into dark waters as if some sort of mystery could be solved or resolved. But it’s not. Like the rest of the river that has no access. No man’s land may be my dark pocket. I am still perplexed by her face hidden and broken in me and by me. He had worn this around his neck. I dangled not knowing my fate. He surrenders not knowing- her, broken and a little more wretched, back to me. He said “the string was broke.” It’s very sad. It’s very sad. Every breath is a funeral for ghosts. Yet I must pretend and linger here haunting this place that goes on even in the rain of fresh tears….I reached out to him and he didn’t see me. I put her away, back inside to the darkness.  Sharada Devi

1 thought on “back inside to the darkness”

  1. i hear the music. that was stopped. a slow song plays. more earnest. faster at some points, and barely coming out. waiting in the dark is our love. precious

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