Conversation with Nameless Homes (an unstructured structure) / Panchami Manjunatha

Usually, the dynamic in the static is captured through silence. Silence of the
winds tumbling down hills. it is the same silent desperation in all our
thoughts. lifting that silence through words is a dangerous experience of
solitude. most of the time, conversing feels like filling those silent voids
inside me. but i can never fill what I never was. there is a sense of emptiness
that cannot be captured in words. depth loses its dignity when codified with
ignorance.
its scary how i have-transcended back to structures i fled from. i haven’t
stopped faltering, not since- my faltering echoed your laughter. maybe too
many people know too much about how much i falter. words i used as shields
adorn all my precipices now, jewels in the burgeoning night.
All my cloaks today, bare your initials.
I turn my back to vipers of unsettlement clamouring beneath my feet. the
most unquantifiable violence, is the one, that begins at birth. Cradles placed
in open graves~ too many people coming close, to look away.
morbidity (I) look (s) pretty from a distance

You see,
i have always waited for my dreams to take me over. i see them, for what
they are now: arrogance of ‘unprofessed’ truths
nevertheless-
don’t pity me,
the scars of frontlines i never defied adorn my pacific hands.
don’t pity me,
beneath my truth lies vengeance.

i have failed to extinguish the mantel of hate
despite professing love.
too much of my time has been subsumed by my wait
the shame of standing still in hurricanes.

But,
I can’t stand still
anymore-
I fret until I unnerve.

too many kids are fighting for love.
birthmarks have become fault-lines of color
too many cradles are burning in open graves.

i hope
i can dare to defy.
defy my urge to look away-
i hope
i won’t stop.
not until-you take your feet off our hearts.

Panchami Manjunatha is a first year Law student at the National Law School University of India, Bangalore. She loves reading and writing poetry, in addition to hiding in corners of dusty libraries with a book and a cup of coffee.

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