A Quest on Overdrive … :)

An eccentric rambler on life's lessons and mercies, found and lost… :)



The mute appeal of her cry
Would never reach his ear
Would he perhaps, yet, open that eye?
He may, perchance, happen upon
His own tragedy, in her cry.

She stood that distance away
Measuring the miles of silence
That grew each day;
Wishing with all her heart
They could traverse its
Deceitful, beckoning charm.
Silence, that evoked
A hundred different tunes
Of losing, of hoping,
Of being bewitched
So true, that she almost gasped.

Did he hear that?
Was he listening?
She hoped, she so hoped
With all her heart
He wasn’t.

That silence was her sentinel.

Nothing, ever, should lay
Open, her vulnerable heart.

Her eyes drew back their touch.
And her voice no longer
Coloured the trails, the wisps
Of their togetherness.

She walked, alone, proud.

She became her silence.
She became that sentinel.

7 August, 2013


Author: Usha Pisharody

A rambler, pretends to be a teacher, loves to dream, and go on Quixotic Quests in the Realm of Romance With Life...

8 thoughts on “Sentinel

  1. I do not know why, but from the word go, i felt like this was written for me. Like I am the she. Like in reply to my soliloquy. 🙂 I know with all my intellect that it is not, still I am glad of that feeling..


  2. There was so much feeling in that verse. I can almost see “her” and feel that silence.


  3. This gives me a queer sense of deja vu and I have no clue why. Something about the verse is very, very poignant.


  4. This seemed to come from a place very close to the heart. Sad and poignant.


Thank you for reading. Do stop a while and write in too... :)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.