The Soul Sanctuary: Irony

Sep 7, 2011

These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 10:14 AM

Through the curtain of the smiles

And the veil of unperturbed joy,

Bruises blossom. Blood leaks.

Like the look on the the face

Of a soldier who has fought valiantly,

Falling to the ground

As bullets make fissures in his skin.

A battle has been fought across our hearts

Across this place in time;

And only I can see the stains of it

Darkening the grass and the wild mushrooms.

Through it grow the crops of strength;

The kind that comes with loss.

A gauze reclines, relaxed, over the truth

Of wounds too deep to clot and scab.

No amount of alcohol will lure out the germs,

No amount of therapy will heal them anymore.

They fester. Reminders of an internal pain.

And at the irony prevails;

The door of a house may be innocent

Where a war is waged in its four walls.

I see you. My eyes are calm.

The irises are a gauze.

And the soul is a wound.

And it is festering.

And it's reason is you.