The rain has to convey a million words of abandoned worth,
To the lonely, desolate soil and my soul, stabbed with their judgmental different ways,
This hole making me feel devoid in my hollow chest cannot be stitched by someone,
For company, I don’t seek for I find satisfaction within my hollow chest.
A mist of forlorn fogginess prevails with the breadth of every mortal creature,
I desire these distances as they are symbiotic,
My distance appeals them of a pleasurable world better off,
And my loneliness makes me happy for I never defined it as one.
It’s not a disease, but a cure knowing that the only thing that should matter my mind is me,
A cold mist and shock jolts down the numb veins of my body when I’m in the presence of someone,
And all my desire from this fire of their criticism of my ways and beliefs,
Is my isolation from their reality, which by God’s mercy I’m well provided with.
I’m engrossed in a novel all day,
I sip my tea and immerse myself in a scent of calm chamomile, as my fingers turn the mottled, dust-colored pages,
I hear the rain pitter-patter on the shelters of unknown homes,
As if they try to imply the silent wishes of the dynasties above,
And I feel my soul can understand their bluntly unheard voices beckoning to me,
As if intended from the creator of my hollow chest.
I observe their ways and that difference is undoubtedly crystal,
That difference which drugs me of my own unique world and perhaps blinds and binds me,
With the chains of isolation tied to my barren soul devoid.
But I’m happy, I’m at peace, I’m not sad.
I’m different. I’m okay.
From reality, I’m away.
But that’s the desire of my hollow chest,
To isolate and self-heal, and be me.
Niharika Gursahani is thirteen years old and she is into writing poetry since she was ten years old. Her work is completely amateur and this is the first time She is writing a poem without a rhyme scheme. She blogs at @theniharikadiaries . She likes to play the piano which is another passion of hers.