ECHOING
ECHOING By: Divya Mandal Freedom is naught but a word, Mere words devoid of action. It seemeth none dost see me, Or is't but I alone? That invisibility, 'Twas discerned by them, Which ne'er was seen by any other. Am I in a dream? Weeping o'er that which ne’er befell me, Why am I the sole one here? To feel this manner? I know one day it shall be true, It must needs be true. I am not alone no more, I have people, And more I need not, For I know they suffice, As they art here, so am I for them. The songs I pen, The tales I weave, Though little prized, Some do yet perceive it, Not so invisible to certain ones still. Perchance 'tis not the world that seeth me not, But mine own self, once blind to mine own worth. Yet now, with clearer sight and kindred souls beside, I dare to sing, though soft, And find the echo that returns to me.