By: Megha Sood
Impossibility
My body gives slowly and surely
to this merciless time
a body so sure of itself
a malady of the sorts
like the mothball
losing itself to the air
Sometimes, I find love in things which are broken and lost
like that rotting chair on the porch
that broken swing
old skewed painting in my grandpa’s room
with its pixellated memory
still etched in me
pain is a colorless remembering
Some things can never be forgotten
the day I saw my friend pulled out like a
cinder block from devouring merciless river,
grief morphs your memories in a different way
imbued with life at one moment
and pale in another
life has its own color
I cried for weeks when my songbird died
my voice died along with her
but this death doesn’t move me at all.
eventually, the dead come alive
scorched earth turns green too
every time the rain falls
like an impossibility.
Difference
Silence tastes different to different mouths
silence is different from the tongue than to the soul
Can you tell the difference between them
dying and wilting of that willow?
They are both losing the effervescence of life
Silence exists between the brevity of truth
and sometimes in its absence
who knows what your tongue is holding back.
You were silent as you were hiding your scars
deep within your soul
and then there are some
who gain a perspective through it
Go ask a saint
a meditating monk,
with truth knotted in his crisscrossed legs
he will tell you the difference
what does an eternity of silence does to his soul
like the ruffled feather of a pigeon
they exist in all its shades.
It leaves a different taste in my soul than yours
sometimes it bears the burden of the truth
the sanity of it
your pulverized thoughts
hidden in your sullen mind
like a serrated knife,
slices the ends of darkness
it exists as an enlightenment
deeply seeded
in-depth of your
pristine soul.
Freedom – an interpretation
What does freedom mean to
me, a dandelion
as I continue my tryst with the
boastful wind
as it carries my identity on
it’s fleeting wings
I tried with all my might
to hold onto my identity
but the cruel and the mighty winds
uprooted and carried me
I’m carried by my need
and desire to be rooted again
I’m an immigrant in my own
godforsaken land
I reach with all my failing might
with my bits severed and falling
and rooting
clutching to the ground for its sustenance
See, I have to survive this
this atrocity called war and
peaceful settlement
and rise through it
find a new patch of soil
call itself my home
dig my roots deeper to survive
the cold transformation
of the ever-changing world
these boundaries and lines don’t make
sense to me
when my identity has been dragged
and has been redefined
and I end up getting the status of an
immigrant.
Bio: Megha Sood

Her works have been featured in GoDogGoCafe, Whisper and the Roar, Duane Poetree, Visual Verse, Vita Brevis, KOAN ( Paragon Press), 521 Magazine, Dime Show Review,Poets Corner, Modern poetry, Spillwords Press, Indian periodicals, Literary heist, Little Rose Magazine, The Quiet Corner, Writer’s Cafe Magazine, and coming up in Modern Literature,Piker Press and many more.
Awards:
She recently won the 1st prize in NAMI NJ Dara Axelrod Mental Health Poetry contest.
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[…] First Published in Two drops of Ink, Oct 2018 […]
[…] First published in Two drops of Ink, Oct 2018 […]
That one on Freedom…wow. Such a powerful image with the dandelion is so good. Thank you for sharing your beauty.
[…] Please read my poems here […]
I really liked your thoughts on silence. It does indeed feel different to the tongue than it does to the soul.
Thanks so much Terry for your kind words.