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.
Topic of this poem: self
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Vulnerability by Mugdha Niphadkar )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(2 November 1994)
Alfred Lord Tennyson
(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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