Some Melancholy, Some Despair, Some Sins!

 

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I was once that beggar, who knocked,

On each door, I was selling my despair,

Some doors never opened, and those,

That did, seeing my torn soul bought,

Some, but each time I sold the burden,

Of that gloom, it weighed me much down,

And even the ones’ I was once blood and bones,

Couldn’t buy those, they weren’t that rich,

So often I came back with my satchel full,

Of melancholy and threw them on ground,

And again with each dawn, I would visit,

A temple, a mosque, a church and once a,

Graveyard holding the heavy pile on my,

Heart, trying to sell them a handful of those,

But they said they only took offerings,

How could I offer my sorrows and despair?

To that one God, with many homes,

And one day it rained incessantly of my tears,

And I saw the dirt from my soul flowing,

Down, it was getting merged into the ashes,

Where woods were gulping the human bodies,

Changing them into grey, I saw no difference,

Which was the wood, which was the flesh?

I had come back, there was no door,

That opened, only the one I had left my,

Remnants within, the inanimates were,

Staring me hard, asking me in their silent,

And demanding roars, Where was I? It was,

The eleventh hour! “Good wives don’t stay,

Out till so late at nights.” The darkness even,

Fetched my shadow, I stood a fragile silhouette,

Like an orphan on the facade of my own home,

That evermore felt a tavern, yet meekly I replied,

As I stood wet in the alley, “I was knocking at each door,

To ask for forgiveness, the devil sat on my,

Tongue that night, haven’t I committed a sin?

And I wanted to confess, for I wish my beloved,

Life and not death, so I had gone to see the,

God of death to forgive my sins” and they inquisitively,

Asked, “Has he?” I had no answer and we kept,

Staring at each other, I was listening to their,

Quietness while they absorbed my invisible qualms,

The only comfort with which I passed my night,

In that last hour, kipping like a child,

With my hands folded in prayers,

Perhaps they reached, as I rose to the shaking,

Of my beloved’s hand over my shoulder,

“Why did you sleep on the couch?” he asked,

 But I could merely embrace him and heaved a sigh,

And I noticed on the wall, the clock wasn’t stuck,

Anymore, it was ticking and I was still breathing...

~Monalisa Joshi~