Secrets live in folded drawers
Beneath the socks of ordinary days.
They breathe softly at midnight,
Careful not to wake the truth.
Some hide like winter birds
Inside the hollow ribs of silence,
Their wings beating against the heart
Like rain trapped in a windowpane.
Some secrets grow teeth.
They pace the halls of the mind,
Scratching at locked doors,
Begging the dark to let them out.
People stitch secretsInto their smiles With invisible thread,Hoping no one notices the tear beneath.
Yet secrets are strange travelers:
The longer they stay,
The heavier their footsteps become
Inside the soul.
One day, even the quietest secret
Turns into thunder,
Rolling through the chest
Until the storm finally speaks.
@Binita Jha
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