I besiege my questions with a barbed barricade,
Locking them out of my labyrinthine mind.
For they revile my soul and await to tumble out
From the metaphorical abyss they are recumbent in.

I recall words of folklore -
“Actions speak louder than words”
But certainly, no action could cut so deep -
The way the questions etched into me.

I hear them like echoes through this storm,
Like an incandescent fire which awaits to burn:

“Will my insecurities unmoor themselves
from their hidden anchor
And lie buoyant on the surface,
Fearless and free like a barque
As I begin to give a piece of myself to you?

“Will the shrouded mosaic of me
Feel secure to reflect upon you -
The dark side of my duality,
As if it were a pirouetting mirrorball?”

My soul lies in exile
Running from the turmoil
I received from time.

“But will it appear again;
Finding faith in the tranquility of our silence,
And bliss in the aura of our Bacchanalia?”


© Netra.