Scattered words
and scattered thoughts
with confusion
some perception
are better than
empty pages
and a numb mind.

Sometimes
it seems to me
when you talked
I was a replacement
for who you couldn't get.

Sometimes the silence
screams at the mind
tears at the soul
and leaves a mark
piercing through skin
doing what words couldn't.

Hidden behind veils
stilled in depths below
suppressed and silenced
some questions are better quiet
or they might break whatever little
there seems to exist at precipice.
This fear, the one oppressing
words crowding at the throat
like restless bees in a hive.

I was watching a girl
She had taken out a paper
And some colours
She looked around
Not knowing what to draw.
This was when a little bird
Came scuttling down
From a lower branch.
It wasn’t a sparrow
Or a crow, or raven
Or any other I knew.
It ****** his head to a side
Picked his wings
And flew at her.
It perched on her arm
Still perking his head
Examining her.
And then he said
Something his language
Which she didn’t understand
Nor did I
But it was approval
Maybe friendship
Mostly the latter
Because it stayed there
On her arm
Admiring her paper.
She looked pleased
It was not something big
But it was something
She might have loved
To remember.
The girl took up her pencil
And started to sketch
A little frail body
And then a beak
Then a long slender tail
Then the wings
And the beady eyes.
Her lines were sloppy
Each stroke trembling
The eyes like eggs
And tail like leaf
She looked at it
And she probably thought
What I was thinking
But then she looked at the bird
Which tapped on it
And danced a little
As if pleased by the effort
Of his new friend.
She was pleased
And I was convinced.
She rolled it up
And put it in the bag.
The bird flew off
And I had to go.
Now I remember
Suddenly, it’s been a year.
I wonder if the bird remembers
Of the encounter
But I remember
Because I know
The girl remembers
Or I think so
She’s my neighbour
And wakes up each dawn
To scatter little grains
To a flock of birds
Which look exactly like that
And once she’s done
She waves at them
Then pulls the curtain.
Now I think
The imperfect drawing
Was better than an empty paper.

~ Adritah

They say we live in a new world.
This new world we are proud of.
There is pride.
There is worth.
There is always something to look forward to.
There is always something to look in awe at.

Is that all we need?
Is this the world we need?
Is this the world we dream of?

This new world we live in,
Where humanity is a business,
Where charity is a pride,
Where abuse is called strength,
Where aids are given like loans.

They say we live in a new world.
This new world we are proud of,
Is it worth it?

~Adritah

Oceans are deep
They seem endless
And profound.
They look still
But harness the power
In their deep.
They are great
Vast, magnificent
The giver of life
And so much more.
What about the river
That’s born from glaciers
That weathers the rocks
And survives the odds?
The river which is happy
And cheerful, jubilant
Despite all it’s fighting.
What about the river
That crosses all boundaries
And unites the people?
What about the river
That waters each grass
The wild or exotic?
But at the end
Does not the river too
Meet the ocean again
Bury the chaos
All the trouble within
And keep still above
To guide the ships
And the yachts?
So,
Which is greater
The ocean or river?

~Adritah