Oh, the songs my pen could write
If it weren’t for my blank mind!
Trapped in my head
Are the words left unsaid
And the hopelessness I try to hide.
But the songs inside of me,
They try to find a way out,
Into small pieces, they shattered,
Of fragile, see-through soul glass,
Sparkling rays of light scattered,
And my broken songs escape at last.
Of what fancy are songs incomplete?
What ears, hearts or souls shall be pleased?
Stuck in an endless loop forever,
What it means, nobody shall know,
Nor would anybody search high and low
For the pieces that went missing long ago—
And my broken songs will remain so,
As thoughts that made no sense;
How could they when they weren’t ever penned?
It all remains a mystery,
And my broken songs remain with me,
Unwritten and unsung as perhaps they’ll be,
Unless they’re on paper,
Out of shackles,
~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.
I often have a lot of thoughts and ideas that I think I’ll remember in the morning, but they’re all either left in pieces that make no sense or just forgotten. And I think that the remaining fragments of ideas that made sense at some point have a beauty of their own.