For the tears entrenched deep in eye
The pain was endured only by thee
For nights spent without sleep in the eye
The cries were heard only by Almighty
For the days spent without smile on face
The glum was felt by tranquil tree
For the evenings bereft of joy and charm
The setting sun sensed the lack of calm
For the lingering fear soliciting a ray of beam
Equanimity seemed like a distant dream
The wounds afflicted deep in the heart
Still await a soothe, if not complete reboot
All that lost as a child cannot be revised
But keeping the inner child alive,
in every walk of life is all that we long for
Aditi Sharma
Jammu
My Inner Self
When the noise cracks,
and breath steadies like a blade,
My hidden,reticent inner self
walks out of the script,they wrote for me,long long ago.
No flags
No sacred rage.
No obedient beliefs.
I tear off certainty—
it reeks of fear.
What they called truth
was inheritance,
not insight.
I strip it down.
Sentence by sentence.
Scar by scar.
Prejudice—
a trained reflex—
died without applause.
The walls I guarded
collapse inward.
They were caves
painted as horizons.
I refuse the Old armour.
Refuse the borrowed voice.
Refuse the comfort of belonging
at the cost of seeing.
I stand exposed—
not fragile,
but ungoverned.
No master.
No inherited enemy.
No narrow throne.
Only a raw open ground
where I choose
what I become.
Yousuf Nairang
Tawi Vihar Sidhra
Jammu
The post The Broken Childhood appeared first on Daily Excelsior.
