Thought-Eaters

 

Houses have hidden walls and doors,

where those bodies lie, silent as the darkness,

lost in the daylights, they travel through,

the veins of those soggy walls,

seldom they smell moldy and peculiar,

the mirrors fear to hold their reflection,

a complete denial to show their souls,

a requiem song they bear on their fragile bodies,

bedlams, they live through each day,

the padlocks are getting bigger every year,

the panes that are open to breathe the air,

takes to a narrow world called galleria,

a breather these bodies get,

when they flow through those hung laundry,

the only time, they smell fresh,

water travels through their fluidity,

often, they become one with it, drowning!

Their skin glass-like, clothes prick them,

I have heard whispers of these bodies,

at nights, listening more often that requiem song,

they sing, not visible to the naked eye,

their voices can be heard in brooding moods,

and paralysed bodies, eyes stuck to the roof,

for they whisper myriad truths about,

many realms, of man, of woman,

the lucent skin, they are thought eaters,

insomnia is what they gift in return.

They look like humans!

Poem by Monalisa Joshi

Image Source: Pinterest