This Time

Pic  Courtesy: © Moumita Mukherjee

A strange silence prevails this time.
It isn’t as if this time She has decided to be

and not make me see.
After every fall, I saw Her rising.
Then why is She feeling like a stranger this time

Is She seeing how I have progressed with each fall

mining our deeds, into darker pits? Strangers, yes perhaps, that is what She sees.
My autumn is Hers this time.
She feels, somewhere She has failed as a mother

She is trying to be a friend this time;

the friend of secrets.
Perhaps, I have revealed a bit too much in our friendly chats

that I never missed Her 

except when She was needed.
She said, 

‘If you expect from me, the mother inside me will be happy

If you don’t, She will be happier

But don’t make me a sadness
as the goddess in you can’t neglect

and She will be called again and again.’
I stare at that aural brightness 

as just another household chandelier.

Her carved beauty as just another beautiful woman close by

That’s how much I own Her.
Her smile and anger both are owned

This time too, the expression isn’t devoid of an expression.

She wants to say something.
Then why are the echoes silent this time.

It isn’t sadness but more.
A strange silence prevails this time
of numbness within a numbness.

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