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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