If you do not sit with it, you will not know.
Until you finally go to bed,
You will not know how much your shoulders bore; hurt.
If you do not close your eyes,
You will not know,
How the tears have been waiting to push through your lashes.
If you do not take a photograph,
Despite the morning rush,
You will not know : there was the moon, still!
Late, too!
If you do not keep humming,
You will not know,
It is soothing only because it is like the lullaby that used to put you to sleep.
(But now, who sings?)
If you do not sit with it, will you know?
Until you sprinkle just a pinch of salt,
You will not know what was missing.
If you do not love it, you will not know.
If I did not try to pen this down,
I would not have known...
I mean, you will never know.
Monica Louis
Monica Louis is a postgraduate student in the department of Engilsh in St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata. She has an avid interest in poetry.
