Maybe it is the haunting Sun,

It kept away at a time when it was needed the most,

To shine its brightest, to lead with light or to simply,

keep the dark away.

There were days when she searched for a reason,

to run, far, far away into a quiet refuge,

Wherefore, she might find solace,

from a world that believed in noise,

A world that survived,

Hurt with hurt, taunt with taunt,

blood for blood,

Time, tainted by bloodied hands.

Everywhere she turned, looked like a well laid trap,

Waiting to claim a reason to destroy her peace,

She might walk into the waiting trap,

Perhaps followed, stalked, or maybe held hostage.

Treading through undiscovered pathways,

She tried, as only a hunted could,

To hide, to keep away, to go unrecognized.

But this world of noise,

Not one to condone silence,

Continued their own heeding, ceaseless haunting.

Bereft of a place to hide,

She walks towards sublimity,

Where the noise, though tirelessly behind her,

Softened,

Almost disappearing into obscurity.

-shobana-

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