My Heart’s Voice After A Separation. {poetry}

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She separated from me.

And then I fall into a hole of hesitation.

And fear.

Dominating my thought process,

I latch onto a string of hope,

not strong enough to hold my weight.

And I fall again.

Deeper this time,

and fear again,

laughing at my meek tries

at being brave.

Like water dripping

unwillingly from a hose

my confidence seeps out,

leaves my body.

What remains only,

that fear.

Or is it?

What is it?

What am I meant to do?

Autumn leaves falling to a ground

so relentlessly flat,

I can’t help but see death

from my window.

I too, let my wilted body fall

to the naked floor,

stretch my branches

and let them catch my rain.

And then silence struck.

I shout within to hear an echo.

Its absence torments me,

and fear

rings its bells.

It’s time to get up,

my fingers and toes tell me,


Don’t mourn what has not been lost.

Don’t question those decisions

carried out on your hearts voice.

But fear,

in a shape of consolation,

does question,

does mourn,

and does let me know,

she will always be there for me

when I least need it.

Or will she?

Who is she?

What am I meant to do?

And so she calls me again,

even though I have learnt

not to answer her,

I hear her calling,

I feel her intention.

I stumble and fall

into her, I fear.

I knew it would happen.

The motion of breaking free,

I have practiced.

I have refrained from

cutting my nails,

from knowing they would come in handy

when pulling myself up from this dark hole.

They grip,

collect dirt and shadows,

and slip.

I slide along a soft wall.

She is pulling me down at the same time as

she is watching me from above,

with that smile on her face.

I know what she is,


Or is it?

What is it?

What I am meant to do?

Her imperative voices

fly across my mental landscapes,

you are idling,

nothing but idling.

Your little holiday is an escape.

Don’t trick yourself,

you are wasting time.

I say,

did I ask for you opinion?

But is it?

What is it?

What am I meant to do?

She triumphs when I fail,

but she doesn’t know,

I too triumph when I fail.

I know catastrophe is success.

Mistakes are gifts.

But this poem is not about

cheering myself up,

but rather,

to be in that pain

of not knowing,

of not having a map,

of feeling lonely in the process.

It is a collection of words

reaching one conclusion,

I am lost.

Or am I?

What am I?

What am I meant to do?


ErikaAhlsbornErika Ahlsborn, a searcher and traveler from her early days, has roamed many parts of this world and is currently staying put in one particular place. She now travels inwards to reach even further. A wild nurse, an energetic performer, a passionate dancer, a shy writer, she occupies herself as she contributes to global happiness by maintaining a childlike playfulness and appreciation of the little things in life.


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