By: Neha Priyan
Spring is the time for joy, the poets say—
When blossoms burst like stars,
and April skies in sapphire silence rest,
With golden fields in the gentle winds of change.
The bunnies leap, the butterflies take flight,
While petals stretch to greet the morning.
Yet here I lie, unmoved by the changing winds,
For something in the world was taken.
The creamy blooms of March, once bright with grace,
Now mock me with her laughter.
The birds that trill with unabated cheer
Know not the silence I’ve been forced into.
A streamlet shimmers over its pebbled bed,
As though it wears a crown of pearls .
The snow still clings to shaded mountain —
But even spring cannot warm me within.
Oh, is this what they meant by “new beginnings”?
A life without her, lost in endless endings instead.
Two days – no food, no taste, no voice to speak;
The tears ran dry, and all that seemed to grow
was the weakness within.
A Mother knocks softly, tray in trembling hands,
A Father imposes concern.
A Brother jests, with hopeful eyes
That had long turned dim –
But none can find the light she took with her.
“Is my little sister there?” – I cry.
They say “no.”
How I wish they had chosen to lie to me
And back I fall to stare at lifeless white—
My ceiling, like my thoughts, a void.
Why don’t I trust? Why do I fear to love?
Because they leave, and never softly.
They move, they fade, they vanish, they die—
And I am left with nothing but goodbye.
Sometimes they go for reasons undefined,
And sometimes death itself has cruelly signed.
Mother asked, “Will you come see the day?”
I answered, “No,” and watched her leave.
It’s not that sorrow caged me in this room—
I only wished to cry.
Alone.
For tears in open light always tend to
Feel like a disgrace,
And pity is a wound I would never want.
I promised I’d be strong, and cold—
A vow I broke the day I let her fingers slip through mine
To leave.
My soul with tiny fingers,
so soft and slight—
A baby girl who made my darkness almost seem to disappear.
She came from orphan’s crib into my arms,
And left behind the world and all who loved her.
Cars honk, the sky is choked in city gray,
And people march along to what their life dictates
Their sisters live. Mine doesn’t.
A message pings—dear friend’s gentle care,
Alas, what can sweetness do with this?
I leave her words unseen, unread, unsaid—
Afterall nothing comforts lives when perfect love –
A first and last – now lies 6ft under
I learned to hide when a bird left for the sky.
I learned again when another forgot to fly.
Dear Life—how many lessons must I take,
For this brave soldier can’t take these
Hardest of battles
She was my peace, my truth, my choices in song—
And all that kept me from the pull of darkness.
Her absence is the presence in this air;
Her silence is the scream I cannot seem to stop hearing.
Over. And Over. And Over.
They say: “You keep too much inside, too deep.”
But secrets are the soil where the mourners live –
Eternity in the gardens weeding.
My life’s an open book, or so I thought to myself—
But most of its pages are with sorrows
and tear stained parchments.
They’re glued shut—not from hate, but from regret,
From wounds raw enough to never heal under a dressing
About the Poet: Neha Priyan is a Psychology student, artist, writer, and dedicated animal rescuer based in Bangalore, India. When she isn’t volunteering with her local street dogs or painting pet portraits, she is likely drafting future novels, baking, or diving deep into her interests — ranging from Greek mythology and musicals to classic literature and Pokémon. A firm believer in the magic of the mundane, Neha finds inspiration in the world around her and aims to publish her stories one day.
This poem was featured on Poetic Expressions 4.0 — our flagship poetry recital event.