In Hiding.

I now marvel,
Perhaps foolishly,
But with a sarcastic understanding,
Not at your modest speech,
Or your never-ending silence,
But at those undercurrents of chance,
That let;
Me be me
And you be you.

In that fated soil,
13 across 13 across 8,
Which never beheld you,
As I used to do;
The rains have subsided,
The storms have lulled,
And the stillness in the air,
Spreads silence like wildfire.

Everyone inside fears,
even an extra trickle of unnecessary fate,
that would disturb this lazy comforting calm.

Meanwhile,
I lie cocooned in a crazy atmosphere of noise,
and pandemonium,
Lest those sounds of silence come looking for me again,
hiding in the attic of egos,
Trying forever,
Not to be me.
Even if you are still you.




-Palash
June 2012, Lumding.