Unrest, Mithila

Mithila, name adrift on a sky of torn desires,
A whisper stirring where the soul retires.
In the still lake of my heart, a frail barque glides,
A restless echo beneath unending tides.

With leaden steps, I walk the waking ache,
Mithila, now a scarecrow in youth’s forsake.
She stands enwound in dusk’s dissolving light,
A silhouette of grace withdrawn from sight.

Her frame, neglected, feeds the termite’s feast,
She moves through ruin, bared to time’s caprice.
Yet still she waits, silent, immense, profound
As memories unravel to the ground.