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.

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