In the Morning

In the morning, the swaying moon subsides,
the clouds around her, placid, and their bathing demeanor,
slowly disintegrates into the blue.
They plunge and deepen as I wake,
loosen as I sleep, too. And as I walk forward,
my feet trembles with fear; my hair, wilders like snakes and wisps,
I become brutal – how unbecoming of me.
I bolt through my dreams, serenade my eager assumptions,
Where do I go, where do I go,
I pass by people I used to know. They look at me, fearful,
afraid to admit their part in this; and all the clouds
that once sung peace and purity, loom around me
like one titanic blanket. Now, I am doing okay,
What a pleasant morning, today.
The sun peers through the fragments,
whatever was left of me.
I wake alone from my biggest ordeals,
the ones that cloud my chest;
Far beneath these dying agonies,
the moon rests easy;
I walk forward empty-handed
Grief lifts me up.
 

Snata Basu is an aspirant poet from Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her work mostly centers on passionate, personal bindings. She is currently pursuing Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at North South University.