Sharon Eappen

We are all but entities Of our own selves Whole yet empty, Passionate yet plodding. All of me is just an embodiment, Of the different monsters that Come to live in me. All of me is like a canvas A canvas that is played upon. Not like the canvas of the night sky That is beautiful to look at; This canvas is almost grey. It's colours are paler than pale And duller than dull. It looks Like the colours were spilled untidily, By children who were only playing. But the canvas, oh the canvas It can feel the pain Of being twisted and turned And stretched and pulled. This body can feel the pain This entity isn't dull. It feels every emotion walk in; It feels every emotion pierce out. This entity is breathing and feeling Even if it has to come face to face With its own monsters- the old ones That like to pay kind visits. This entity feels every emotion An outburst of cry Or a rage of anger It is tired of building facades. And so it ...