silence

Yellow and orange in the bones

The red that grows,

A deafening silence 

From the crows.

The tongue that crumbles

Under the rumbles of floors

I no longer desire 

To carry brave bones

My words sprout out like vines.

Each with a few broken twines

Dying slow

Like old wine. 

Love blossoms.

Yet it leaves its marks.

Is love only enduring?

The harsh and the dark?

Why do words cut deeper than a sword?

I no longer desire my truth.

All it leaves is bareness and bruises. 

Every confession empties me more.

Even if I was the right one

This blame game

He said, she said.

Why am I left being the sick one?

All the wrong I ever did

Must I only repay the sins?

Like a rat going on a hunt

I am prey to the words.

If I say

I am the bad one.

If I don't

I am still undone.

Love is blind.

but not to the wound of words.

Love is not for me.

I am only a corpse.

nodding to every question.

So I keep swallowing these bitter seeds.

Hoping they don’t grow back as weeds

But the silence of the coils around my ribs

Strangles my throat

Leaving no chance 

Of anything that could have blossomed.

Maybe that is my curse.

To grow a garden of unsaid words

Trees that grew without my permission

Cuts down my circulation 

They said I am strong.

But my only strength is quiet suffering.

Keeping it all in

Not letting anyone see

Inside, the soil is crackling. 

I wonder if I was meant to be loved.

Or only born

To listen to the pain of others

While letting my own petals crackle 

From childhood, I was labelled as the quiet kid. She doesn’t say much. She is shy. She is an introvert. She lives in her own world. This makes me wonder why I chose to be silent. Why didn’t I say anything when I felt hurt? 

I used to fight a lot with people. How did you say that to me? Why did you say that to me? I no longer desire to say anything. Why does it matter what I have to say? Arguments never healed me; they only made me feel smaller. So I learnt to fold my words inside myself. I kept my words caged so no one misunderstands them.

“You don’t overthink at all, right?” That's what people say. They simply assume. And I let them. It is easier to nod than to explain. Just because I keep it all in doesn't mean that I don’t feel. 

Just because I don't like burdening others with my issues, I don't overthink? I simply don’t want to be seen as the victim, so I choose to be the quiet one. I started finding solace in my silence, where my thoughts can roam freely without judgement. The weight of my words remains hidden, but the depth of my emotions is lost within me.

People say they want to listen, but what they really want is to be heard. They don’t want to hear about your bad day. They want to feel needed and important, so I choose to spare them the burden. Everyone just wants to shed their own tears, contemplating about how they got hurt. No one cares about the other one. 

When you never speak of your pain, people think you don’t have any. They call you calm, composed, and mysterious. They don’t see the storms inside your chest. My thoughts eat me alive. My mind speaks more than my lips. It’s an endless saga of my thoughts berating me like echoes I can't silence. Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning, unable to keep my head above water. It's a battle between what I show the world and what I hide inside.

It is like a headache that nothing can cure: no medicine, no remedy. It's not a physical pain. just a constant, ringing voice of my own thoughts. It's a lonely battle, fighting against the weight of my own mind. The struggle to appear strong while feeling like I'm crumbling inside.

I'm frazzled again. Exhausted of life, dizzy from chasing goals I can’t reach. Drained of being Vidushi. Sometimes I wonder, "Am I losing my light?" Or did I ever really have one? Maybe those last few months were just a brief spark that fooled me into thinking I was shining.

Everything feels heavier now. I feel exhausted from all that’s around me. The world hasn’t changed much, but I have. There is a quiet difference between who I am and who I used to be. Maybe that’s what growing up really means: realising how much innocence you’ve lost and wishing you could return it, even just for a day.

I don’t want attention. I don’t even want to be noticed. Sometimes, I just wish I could disappear quietly, leave everything behind without anyone realising it. I felt I could do it all. I can manage everything at once, but I guess I can't.  I’ve reached my limit. Even the things that once brought me joy now feel draining, and I can’t understand why. I used to be so full of energy and passion, but now I feel like I'm running on empty. It's a strange feeling, not recognising yourself anymore.

I believe my model needs to be fine-tuned again. Fine-tuned with new information; however, my GPU is fully drained.

I am haunted by people who left and by the ones I left behind. We all made mistakes, and we all had our reasons. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I keep wondering if it’s truly possible to let bygones be bygones, or if some parts of us always stay stuck where things went wrong.

All I want is that time back, a time when I knew too little, thought too little and laughed a bit too much. Everything felt a little lighter. I feel like that version of me, the one who didn’t carry so many questions, could fix something quietly broken inside.

Now, I envy her, her life, her ties, her quiet peace, her easy skies.

I wish I had what she has. I understand her life isn't perfect, and she must be struggling as well, but I just want to be like her. I wish I had friends like her. Her friends are hers. They do not make her feel left out. Friends who do not use her solely to fill a spot. Those that genuinely care for her. 

Perhaps the problem is that I do not want to grow up. I can't handle this he-said-she-said world; everyone wants to be better than each other. Everyone mocking each other’s struggles. 

It doesn’t hurt when people don’t talk to me, but when people who I once cherished ignore my presence like we never met, it hurts a lot. My heart swells up to see them talk to others the way they once talked to me; I know it's not a big deal. People go, but it's hard to let go. It's just difficult to accept that some relationships are not meant to last forever.

I wish people came with warnings, with their intentions clearly stated out so later it doesn’t destroy me. It would be so much easier; it would save so much pain if we knew who was meant to stay and who was simply passing through.

It stings when people who once made me feel seen start to see right through me as if I am a ghost who is still breathing. This is a strange kind of loneliness, to feel invisible to people who kept close to you. I feel hollow. I wish there was a way to protect ourselves from those who will eventually leave, to shield our hearts from the pain of their departure. 

Thinking is injurious to health. The more I think, the more I realise how far I am from the person I want to be. Every thought feels like a mirror, showing me everything I’ve tried to outgrow yet still carry within me.

I guess we all have our bad days, days where we don't feel like ourselves, but what if those days stretch out to weeks? What should I do? How do I get so many weeks back now? I can’t. That’s the deal; I have to deal. 

I am like Sisyphus, pushing my rock uphill, defending my sins against my will.
My mind, like sirens, sings and deceives me.
Devouring all the good left in me. 

Dangling by the ankle over River Styx, my thoughts grow heavy; their shadows mix.
My mind has kidnapped my soul like Kore. Now warmth feels strange, a quiet war.

I wish I could rest in Gaia’s womb, cradled safe from this endless gloom.
But I fell short. 

Now I see.

Krono’s tomb was made for me.


~ Vidushi Anand