Trudging the track alone,
alas! Found home none.
Neither the cloud, nor the wavy blue,
that gave her the clue.
Akin the fossil turning filth,
She got lost being a meagre myth.
Being unfit for the dais,
was too tender to survive.
Being a shoulder in sorrow,
grave being the place for the eyes that hide horrow.
Being the weed among the flowers,
wherefore the respect for the sand
among the showers!
Clashes she ever got,
Deep down the core, been deep shot.
Turned void, rest stabbed with dare,
and then she uttered but
words stirred in air.
‘Mate’ just a spell spectre,
let it be a hush,
why one turns a lone letter!

Gayatri Mohapatra

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