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Featured Writer: Myiesha Srivatsva

ROOM ON THE WEST


Tall stood the walls made of bricks and graffiti

Inside it is a ceaseless hall and two rooms in a peculiar shade

I find myself amid the hall

while the Marigold inside me grows

I espy the west and I espy the east

As if I could disintegrate the wooden barrier

With the strength of my glistering eyes

Thoughts that don't believe in tranquillity gyred around me

Is it a good lookout?


Enough with the contemplation,

I took one step ahead

I closed my fist

And I put it against the exquisite facade

Soon I hear the sashay walk of some stiletto heel from the other side of the door

The louder the footsteps, the faster my heartbeat

I watch the door I see before me swift inside

One tall lady stands there

She shakes my frost

covered hand,

As I enter the happy

go lucky crowd.


Folks with verdicts and glorious togs

Cheery laughs and tempting smiles

Walls that are made out of gold

And crimson curtains that hang

from

the rod

Like lingering blithesome memories

Scents that only go so far

Oh it's a celebration with no occasion


An intimidating voice within me

Forces me to cross the threshold and tour the room on the west

Long I stood and then went exploring

Away goes the so

called

elation and glee

Awaits the hefty doorknob

What I see before me now is the calamity after the storm


A vacant room that is occupied by lonely phantoms

Spider

webs and an ineffable mess

No one to welcome you

except for the tedious feelings

Walls made of nothing but faith

And fragmented tiles

Torn and musty curtains

With half

broken skylights


Dirt on the shelf

Perhaps this room is history

My nature of not vacating inceptions undone

Forces me to stay and explore

The longer I wait, the lonelier it gets


I hear sounds of music and

merriment

from

the room nearby

This is not the long haul

Only a matter of time.


My curious eye catches the sight of a knife lying on the floor

If some other day, I'd walk away

But this time, I chose to stay

I lift the razor

edged knife up

I wonder if I could put it to some good use

I make my way to the filthy wall

Write on it the words you're reading now

Could the room nearby tolerate the blossoming of this vile rose?


"This is the strength of solitude"

I whisper to myself

Tall stood the walls made of bricks and graffiti

Inside it is one vacant room for artistry

And it's all yours to decide



Myiesha is a 14-year-old girl who is currently living in India. She is very passionate about poetry, and has been writing since she was 6-7 years old. She has had some of her poems end up in local/school magazines and has seized the first position in various competitions.



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