Megha Sood is an award-winning poet, editor, and blogger from India, based in New Jersey. She is Assistant Editor of Lit Journals Mookychick (UK), Life and Legends (USA), and Literary Partner with the “Life in Quarantine” Stanford University. Also, a Pushcart Nominee and National Level Winner for the Spring Mahogany Literary Prize 2020.
As the winter's sun takes away the moisture from my dreams desiccated in the scorching heat; desires unfurl like the fern leaves I move slowly not to wrinkle them all treading carefully not to step on them or crumble them to pieces— those pulverized concoctions is paving my way to salvation. How alone will be the loneliness within this cacophony and voiceless din, If waves never return to the shores? Stripping the shores of its blaring noises and of their wilful crashing How lonely the seas would feel to its core? How will the bough of the mighty oak in the forest feel? when the laughter hidden in the trees are stripped of its wind carrying those hushed whispers treading carefully, sewing the solitude in those tangled branches. Will the forest feel bereft and alone? How lonely would those stormy nights feel? Stripped of the howling and the roaring of that boisterous gale weaving a symphony out of the broken frame of the window’s constant tapping Would the nights feel lonely, so evermore? How lonely the heart would feel? Bereft of this emotion and its existence if stripped of the rhythm of its beat and companion of its soliloquy. How much is that we crave the noise? This dissonance, the cacophony; which brings the sudden realization of life to us that the syncopation of solitude is the noise carved in its core.