Choked Desolation

Reshma Anil Kumar | 12, May 2023

Locked in fog,

So thick it looks painted on me

In the color of dread,

Even I can't see myself,

Trembling out of fear or frost

In that jolly-looking mask of paint,

Hiding the 'me'

In that pretty little cave.

Actually, the leaky little cave.

The Mask? The Cave? The Fog?

All so cold and dry,

Except for the tears, bitter in torment,

I never knew,

Choking and leaking off 'me',

Blanketing and stinging my fingers

Smeared in cold

Numb in the chill, 

Closing on 'me',

Coloured in terror,

Dimly longing for warmth

For home...

But afraid all the same

Afraid to leave the Fog

Out of the Cave, 

Called the Closet.

Locked in fog painted on me

In the color of dread

Conditioned to hide in the leaky little cave,

Unbeknown to my right to venture beyond,

Of the light beyond

I stand weary and drained

From the agony

Of the rejection of 'me'

Chaining me to the Fog,

Remote and deserted

Obscuring 'me', forsaken and despondent,

Trembling in that jovial mask of paint

Only to ask, "Why?"

With an answer as foggy

And blue as the Closet,

The only home for 'me'.