I realize now
that some stains are too deep
to ever be rinsed completely clean
that there are pathways
on the palms of my hands
that I may never understand
There are words that I have spoken
that can never be unsaid
lines that I have written
that cannot be unread.
Episodes of deep turbulence
have followed me across several seas
and my throat is forever sore
from silent, screamed apologies.
From India to the Wind River Mountains
I have left trails of manic tears
and finally I settled in a reflective nest
of my thirty-something years.
Just in case the scratches on my slate
have crept in a little too deep
to ever really be wiped clean
In case the ghosts decide to haunt me
until my dying days
and my mind has been damaged
in just too many ways…
Just in case you ever wonder where
the world is keeping me these days
Look back on something that Plato used to say
We are all as moldable as clay
and capable of change.
Should the stains have sunken in too deep
to ever really be washed clean
they are only just reminders
of a shape I used to be.
Leah R. Chatterjee