The Shadow Walked Away.



                    An old lonesome mirror stands there,
                    in the middle of an
                    abandoned room;
                    existing in a domain where
                    the silence sings of sorrow.
                    And staring inside through the transparent wall
                    I see a shadow brought to life,
                    the same shadow that follows me in the dark,
                    now fades into my reflection.

                    And as my finger tips touch the glass,
                    the silhouette moves away;
                    as if ashamed of
                    it’s manifestation,
                    breathing in this realm.


                    Since then in every mirror I’d pass,
                    I would search and see my eyes;
                    none obscuring
                    the shallow depths,
                    that the old mirror refused
                    to reflect.

                    But after hence, that wicked dream,
                    My mind was cruelly wrecked,
                    it kept wandering into
                    that abandoned room
                    where the old mirror was kept.

                    Alas! by now the smidge of presence
                    had walked far away..


                    Weary, broken,
                    clothed in tatters,
                    the heart it fell on the ground,
                    mourning for a murky figurine-
                    that now dwelt in the
                    clutches of oblivion.

                    My psyche just taunted
                    the delicate fraction,
                    weak enough to bow to the loss,
                    and cower in despondency,
                    while it bathed in
                    the glamour..


                    All ends, and so did end
                    the flight of
                    grandeur and fame.
                    And the thoughts that once would soar
                    were banished from the heavens.
                    Theirs wings lost feathers,
                    as each was ruthlessly plucked out,
                    by the satirical winds.

                    And I savagely plummeted into a chamber
                    lit by flames of failure,
                    forming a deathly beautiful
                    chandelier, hanging overhead.
                    But all that the rays would illuminate,
                    was a lonesome mirror,
                    that was unable to
                    portray the lies of the personage,
                    who projected the image.


                    Then forth I walked
                    in the hidden lanes,
                    far away from the fabricated glam.
                    Collecting the pieces of past
                    that had faded away;
                    withering into a memory,
                    buried underneath the decaying photographs,
                    that painted a soul,
                    for the soulless.

                    While walking
                    through those haunted roads
                    I lost the fear of
                    broken tombs,
                    for my life was too a pyramid
                    of half-truths and
                    And I remain nothing but the rejected debris
                    of a dejected hurricane.

                    So stumbling through the
                    graveled paths,
                    that I had walked with
                    bleeding feet,
                    I fell, on the ground with
                    thirst and hunger,
                    for a love that I was denied,
                    or perhaps that I had

                    It was then that I heard
                    the silent whispers
                    of foot fall,
                    approaching me, with almost a
                    ghost like eloquence.

                    Jaded, I refused to look up,
                    and leave the arms of my dark numbness,
                    but my weary eyes were
                    curious so, and peered straight into the mirror
                    where the reflected silhouette
                    wordlessly stood,
                    a peaceful smile on it’s lips,
                    as it slowly stepped
                    into the light.
                    It was only after I fell,
                    and bled and drowned in pain,
                    that the shadow in the mirror
                    revealed my face..


••ari purkayastha fallen alone

Ari Purkayastha is just another wild person with wilder thoughts, who thinks that writing them down might mean that the people around her won’t realize how out of touch with reality she really is, but she tends to write random gibberish in the randomest of places, so most already know. She likes words, and weirdly surreal metaphors, and sad songs, and has a sick sense of humor (depends completely on how you interpret sick). You can catch up with her on twitter at @ryekayas or just check out her blog fallen alone.

(And now I’m going to pretend that writing about myself in 3rd person didn’t feel weird at all)

22 thoughts on “The Shadow Walked Away.

  1. Ari– reading this was like swimming in beautiful words: ” the silence sings of sorrow”; “While walking/through those haunted roads/ I lost the fear of/broken tombs”, “I fell, on the ground with/thirst and hunger,/for a love that I was denied,/or perhaps that I had/betrayed.” just gave me chills. You wrote a mesmerizing spell of beauty and pain and melancholy. I am still haunted.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. So stumbling through the
    graveled paths,
    that I had walked with
    bleeding feet,
    I fell, on the ground with
    thirst and hunger,
    for a love that I was denied,
    or perhaps that I had
    I found so much beauty in these words, all of them, but these squeezed me. A wonderful piece.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. This week I was reminded about what is so special about ari. She is a writer who possesses special powers to use language to move the reader. It is an honor to operate in the same space with her. This piece showcases her a poet at the height of their creative power.

    Liked by 3 people

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