It doesn’t want a voice
neither to see
all it wants for a moment,
to just be
it’s the tears she shed
on a rose bed
hurting an earthworm
when she took, the digging turn
Will I cut again
and bear the pain ?
of guilts to live with
no chance to explain ?
What can voice do
if they don’t hear
it’s better
that she doesn’t go near
So, she sits there
to just be
in a solitary evening
of memory
- Shweta
(Oct 5th, 2024)
