Megha Sood

Megha Sood is a contributing editor at Free Verse Revolution, Heretics, Lovers and Madmen, Sudden Denouement, Whisper and the Roar, GoDogGoCafe and Poetry editor at Ariel Chart. Over 300+ works in journals including Better than Starbucks, FIVE:2: ONE, KOAN, Kissing Dynamite, Foliate Oak. Visitant Lit, Quail Bell, Dime show review, etc. and works featured/upcoming in 20 other print anthologies by the US, Australian, and Canadian Press. Two-time State-level winner of the NJ Poetry Contest 2018/2019.National level poetry finalist in Poetry Matters Prize 2019. She blogs at https://meghasworldsite.wordpress.com/ and tweets at @meghasood16.

Reflection

 

Those frosted memories

failed to get thawed

by your warm entanglement

failed to melt me slowly

simmering like soup on a rusted stove

 

your body is now a ghost to me

a stranger in the bedroom mirror

like the night I lost my dog in the woods

I called out his name

and ran blindly

 

those woods were very forgiving

as they give way to my sadness

those broken twigs and stooped branches

carried my sorrow

those ripples in the river

broken by its own rocks

carried deep in its heart

 

Pain always brings us down

the stale wind carried

the stench of my broken heart

I revisit them every time

during my nature walk

 

These blades of the pale grass

by the frost, a fungus

devouring it, every moment

it sits on its skin

 

This nature

it’s every scene

reflects the pain

in solidarity.

 

 

Decryption

 

 

The scrivened pain

on the open palms of my granny

whose lines have been scraped clean

by the whiplash of time

she stared at them through her bleary eyes

gazing from nothing to emptiness

 

as the lone tears fall from her eyes

on a planned trajectory of pain and angst

her palms open and vulnerable

as the prayer itself

like the dead butterfly wings

in my clutched palms

losing color to this air

slowly but surely

 

Like a Navajo warrior

she speaks to the winds

which carries the pain in her hollow bones

rubbed on to the winds,

this air is infused with her pale thoughts

prayer under her muted breath

this lexicon of wisdom and offering

often gets lost in this

smattering cacophony of life

 

One day I’ll surely untangle them

straighten them like the neat rows

of the seeds planted in her backyard

now breaking through the earth

growing through the pain.