Mugdha Niphadkar


Vulnerability


I know not why she exhibits the vulnerability she does,
She has everything, the appreciation, the pedestal, the achievement.

Eventually it does not matter that she is a human,
That she too is a composite of faults, of setbacks, and of melancholy abound.

I know not why the sight of her brings me deep anguish,
She is my failure, the penumbra of the shadow of my incompetence.

It is impossible to fight her, the urge to lash out and the urge to be washed by her glory.

I know not why I pursue the impossible attempt to be her, as it lingers in the depths of the strangled subconscious,
the cacophony of voices, the juxtaposed pulls, all shred the being into indecipherable facets.

I try hard to understand, are her exemplary triumphs, my perceived illusions?
I confront the fear, I supersede the wrenching soul, I realize the frail constitution all our minds share world over.

I know not why, I always let the goodness return, I start to feel my numb limbs again, the hope return.
She is now a distant dream, I get back to work, conscious of my tangible ability, fighting to win,

Until she comes back to haunt me again.

Submitted: Monday, April 07, 2014
Edited: Monday, April 07, 2014

Topic of this poem: self


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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This poem was written on a dreary low evening. It acknowledges our failed attempts at perfection and the perfection ideal we formulate in our heads that make us feel vulnerable. They do allow us to appreciate who we are.

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