The Little Voice
A poem by Navishkar Ram
Photo by Vijay Sadasivuni from Pexels
Every breath is like swallowing razors.
Each gulp tears,
Rips and gashes.
Each word winds its way down
Deep into the pit of your stomach.
Makes a home there and rests.
–
Walking out your door,
You tremble, nervous as you observe
The eyes of the world
Of your neighbours,
Your friends and strangers
Unclothe you from head to toe.
Scratches begin forming.
–
Your throat tightens
The razor speaks
He is an evil –
Insidious creature.
He doubts you
You listen.
You believe.
–
Until nothing in this world is ever true anymore
To you
Your wishes
They are lost.
Your truth becomes a drop in the ocean of tears-
That you, yourself have created.
