For days I’ve stared
At this blank slate of a screen
Praying to be blessed
With some literary epiphany.
For nights
I’ve wracked my mind
With a nutcracker, hoping
Maybe something meaningful
Will snap out of
The skull it’s encased in.
If I truly am
The master of my fate
Why do I feel
Like I’m stuck
In a cage?
If all who wander
Are not lost
Why do I wonder constantly
Who I am and
What I want?
This lack of epiphany is
The least of my shortcomings, but I fear the rest of them
Are far more forthcoming—
As the curtain rises
I feel my shrinking irises
Squinting against
The onset of a spotlight;
As the audience approaches
My throat closes—
My lips wobble, yet the words
Remain foreign;
I never could control
My fluctuating charm
And at the time I need it most
It seems to
Turn off;
As the curtain is called, I
Feel my heartbeat fall
Back to a normal rhythm, and
My throat is no longer
Constricted—
My whisper becomes a booming voice
Now that no one is around to listen.
I glance at this parchment turned paper turned phone—
At the scrawled handwriting turned uniform Calibri text and
Can’t help but feel so alone;
When I write I become
My own world
But when I can’t, I lose touch
With who I am
In the real world.
They say we are all
The masters of our fate;
But I say we are at the mercy
Of the talent that holds us
Of the purpose that molds us
Of the God that knows us—
They say not all
Who wander are lost;
But forget there is great disparity and distance still
Until one is found.
~ Maaheen Shaikh `25
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