For Day 23, napowrimo.net has us exploring a numbered verse format where each verse is in dialogue with the other, with the entire poem being in setting with something that we used to do once, but no longer do.
How fitting it should be, then, that this poem should be about art and my love for it. I have not been able to give my time to my art these days, and it has been killing me inside because it is such an important part of myself that I have been denying. I know there’s a lot going on, but in my struggle to keep up with just about everything, I have forgotten how to take some time out for myself to recover from the constant pressure of everything that I am forced to take responsibility for.
It’s never been who I am, and it’ll never be, no matter how good I am at my job.
I channelled my longing for my art into my poem today. It might not strike a chord with you, since it’s extremely personal, but I hope you’ll still give it a chance and read it.
1
A palette in a hand
Streaked in paint,
All of my colours dance,
Swirled around hopes and dreams–
2
Some never manifested,
Some did vanish too soon,
Some left me a jilted lover
Who’s still talking to the moon.
Colours faded long ago
But couldn’t be erased,
The palette replaced with a pen,
Hopes and dreams remained the same.
3
And I filled pages
Until all ink ran dry,
I wrote my heart out
Until I no longer cried,
Now my thoughts are clouded again,
Too clouded for me to write.
4
What once was
Can never be the same,
The tides have changed,
Life got in the way;
Things I once held dear
Drift further away,
My only anchor struggling
To keep me in place.
It hurts.
It aches.
5
Every verse I’ve written
Seems ages old,
The newer ones
Don’t have the same allure,
And yet I so desperately cling
To a part of me that feels alien now,
Time isn’t mine and it’ll never be,
But if I don’t try, I’ll never know.
~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.
Featured Image by Elena Mozhvilo on Unsplash
The Shubhster Diaries 
Leave a Reply