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Where are you?

Lies are served under a silver cloche on a crisp white table cloth while the truth catches dust on a shelf in an old cabinet. Are you on a quest for innate happiness and unwavering faith?

By Aishwarya RanePublished 2 years ago Updated about a year ago 1 min read
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Dear faith, come back home 

You disappeared the day I was caught in the eye of a thunderstorm 

I swayed, bent, and broke like a tree 

The sea pulled me in and spat me out 

Dear faith, I live in a rickety home 

Without you, I barely feel tenderness or warmth 

Do you believe what you feel or what you see? 

My heart has been hit with the deadliest drought 

Parts of me withered away in the afterglow 

You kept me afloat and helped me grow 

In the darkness, you were my strength 

In the cold, you nursed me back to health 

Without you, cynicism reigns supreme 

Should I dream or scream?

I am weightless and heavy 

Even in the rubble, I want to be merry 

You protected me from shards of glass

Without you, there are infinite snakes in the grass

When you disappeared, the air from my lungs followed you 

I have seen sadness in every hue

My throat itches from the dust of despair 

In your absence, I formed cracks that need repair 

I want to believe in magic and miracles 

Can you see fear binding me with shackles? 

performance poetry
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About the Creator

Aishwarya Rane

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