There is a poem buried in me, that I am yet to write
The words won’t come, they demand to be dug, a fidelity rite
Just a feeling scribbled at the edge of my throat
Clawed in, by something sharp, something small
So when I speak, my voice drowns in my blood
Maybe you have heard the words, might they have slipped unbeknownst
Some spoken, other unspoken, deliberately so
Only felt in the sinking hole in my chest, did you feel it too?
It is in that dark pit, where the words nest
Their weight felt in each thing unsaid
There is a poem buried in me, that I am yet to find
For when I say it out loud, the words break, as does my voice
A DESI MUFFIN 