A Tapestry Of Lost Dreams

By Sushree Sunayana Mishra

Shhh, do you hear it?

The quiet lament of someone unable to fit.

Why won’t you see it? The ruthless prison,

Where souls wither, lost in the Vision.

Can’t you at least feel for the agony, the unbearable pain,

Of the ending to a story lost in the script, tragically slain?

In the scars on the skin, tales of treason,

Aching reminders of a soul’s silent season.

In the mirror’s gaze, I stare,

A bridge to my soul, stripped bare,

A reflection of someone I’m forced to be,

And somewhere amidst this race, I lost sight of the real me.

Crushed underneath Dad’s dreams and Mom’s expectations,

Longing to make them proud, I wear a mask of perfection.

But behind the façade, I silently fade,

As my soul withers beneath the charade.

Society’s standards, a relentless chase,

Beauty defined by a photoshopped face.

Among peers, I search for a place to belong,

But judgment and ridicule, a never-ending song.

Ah! The expectations, they’re all around,

The pressure to conform surmounts.

In a world where individuality’s drowned,

Lost in the noise, suffocated by endless bounds.

Numbers on a paper, that’s how my worth is weighed,

In shadows cast by bigotry’s shade.

In the dead of the night, tears stain the pillow I slept in,

And as the world rests away, I lay awake, analyzing my sin.

As I search for solace, where do I even begin?

Shadows of doubts etched deep within.

Am I even allowed to cry?

I know I’ll be crucified.

I plead and beg and cry and wail,

I turn my anguish to anger and set sail.

Dark clouds loom, and I look around, seeking, helpless,

‘Cause didn’t you see? There’s no silver lining; it’s all hopeless.

Identity buried, a mere puppet, lost in all the craze,

My life a canvas for society’s gaze.

In the spotlight’s glare, I dance and sway,

Till in the shadows, I silently decay.

In the silence of my tortured mind,

In the quiet of my trembling breath,

In the memories of a life left behind,

Finally, a hushed howl, a dance with death.

Shhh, now do you hear it?

The echoes of those who ceased to be.

Maybe now you would see it? The weathered wings and wounded souls,

Fading lights, having lost all control.

Maybe now you’d at least feel the pain of being forsaken by your own,

Their dreams undone, left in the dark all alone.

So here’s to the heroes failed by the world, and stuck in a whirlpool,

Their wishes disregarded till they succumbed to the ocean’s pull.

By Sushree Sunayana Mishra