Silence

Of all weapons one can wield in love,
It is the most effective.
A controlled demolition,
The kind used to implode
Old buildings inwards,
Into themselves.
What’s left then is a dust mote
That settles on the shoulder of a passerby,
And easily brushed off.
An insignificant speck,
That I am reduced to
By your withholding.

So clever,
These strategically placed sticks of nitroglycerine
Of my own rage pride denial frustration, desolation defeat helplessness fear misery anguish desperation hopelessness grovelling wretchedness, eating shit begging relapse…
They do the job,
No muss, no fuss.
And there you stand watching,
Remote in hand,
In your air-conditioned comfort,
As the dust settles on itself.

©Hema Gopinathan Sah 2018

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