Broken Parts

A poem of pain by Lopamudra, for Different Truths.

The broken parts of me aches
In lonely hours
Shed tears without any sound
I diligently cover up my wound
Not to be noticed
Not to be questioned
Not to be asked
About the bizarre incidents of the past
The warm blood flow in my veins
Runs ghastly
Each flesh from the body parts
Demands air directly
My organs are unable to digest
The boisterous words, which you used abruptly
Without thinking how it will hurt others’ sentiments seriously.
I am not a stone
Neither I am a hard rock
Inside me a soft heart breathes
Inside me a sweet dream creeps
Inside me a melodious music sings
I read the green,
I watch the blue,
I paint red,
I skip with rainbow shed
I care for the words of past
I am concerned for the present
But I am broken inside to several parts.

Picture design Anumita Roy, Different Truths