The Trial of Cradle

 

The Trial of Cradle

To the roots of wretched gloom,

    To the sleepless nights and staggered breaths,

To the dreamy heights and silent deaths,

To my buried face, piercing the pillow

Hard enough...

Hard enough not to let a squeak come through

Many outcry, agitate, advise

Let the words bleed through

Rip it, let it slip - without a damn clue!

Oh but wasn't I taught

To keep it low?

To grow up, while the others glow?

I had made my peace with the storm and quiet

Yes, they coexist, they do.

With the facts being robbed

Of my childish sanity

That was the time to be tender,

To be raw, immature, to wonder -

Not that I was unloved, every thing fell out of tune

Not that I was unloved, agony painted its hue -

And the outgrowth was nothing but

A curled-up being

Withdrawl, concussion sealed sunk in.

The longing just to reciprocate

The dearth of expression -

Raised a storm, 

An intractable mess was henceforth born.

Riddhi Chakraborty