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The inner voice is no longer abstract. It has a persona and it lights up a cigarette, an interesting metaphor. Sunila verses about this ‘trusted friend’ in a fresh voice, for Different Truths.
My inner voice lit a cigarette
Smoke of which first seemed to suffocate
Nay it awakened my meek senses
Warned me to stay far from termites
That slowly nibble away valuable time
Each moment is registered as slice
Obnoxious airs surrounding neurons
Vacate vigour and leave VIBGYOR none
Life at last turns into a wasted junk
I give credit now to this trusted friend
Despite its nagging or vexing trend
Let the cigarette of inner voice
Burn and blow clouds to make the right choice.
©Sunila Khemchandani
Photos from the internet.
