MEGHA SOOD - POEMS

Megha Sood lives in Jersey City, New Jersey. She is a contributing author/editor at GoDogGO Cafe, Candles Online, Free Verse Revolution, Whisper and the Roar, Poets Corner and contributing editor at Ariel Chart.

Her 290+ works have been featured in 521 Magazine #Sideshow, Oddball, Pangolin review, Fourth and Sycamore,KOAN ( Paragon press),Modern Literature, Visual Verse, Vita Brevis, Modern poetry, Spill words Press, Indian periodicals, Literary heist, Little Rose Magazine, The Quiet Corner, Writer's Cafe Magazine, and coming up in Dime Show review,Piker Press, The Stray branch and many more. Her poetry has recently been published in the anthology "We will not be silenced" by Indie Blu(e) Publishing, "All the Lonely People" by Blank Paper Press and upcoming in eight other anthologies by the US, Australian and Canadian Press.

She recently won the 1st prize in NAMI NJ Dara Axelrod Mental Health Poetry contest. She blogs at https://meghasworldsite.wordpress.com/. 

​Disown

​You did not learn this ache from me
says, my mother,
as I rip open my heart
turn back my eyelids to
show her the redness of my eyes
and the blackness of the heart
I'm carrying within
 
You did not get those scars from me
when I show her the
unforgiving lines on my back
those darkened lines of pains left by
his hateful hands
 
You did not learn this tongue from me
when I scream and screech
the thousand times in my muted heart
burned and charred
a million times
every time he calls me
"my favorite child"
 
You did not get this heart from me
when I break my lover's heart
into million pieces
running feverishly from the commitment
every time I see that glance in their
lustful eyes
 
You are not part of me
she says with
pain seared across his
heaving chest
and living loosely in her
wrinkles and the crow's feet
pain ripping her apart
every time she sees
the demon rising in me

​Pond -a reflection

​The emptiness and the darkness of my soul
can't be doused with me
swallowing and gulping down a
fistful of fireflies,
like the burning of the thousand suns
like a remorse of the old forgetful memory
now marking its presence on your skin and
picking at your scab
the happiness and cheerfulness in my heart  is
as lively as the morning of a funeral day
there is so much commotion
and so much cacophony
I have always looked at the pond
and amazed by its
ability to
camouflage life and death
at its sinking bottom
the ripples that are made by the lively insects
it catches your attention here and there
like the glimmering flight of lights
in my ashen eyes
visible for a moment
and then lost again
and all of a sudden
a frog gulps the dragonfly
resting on the edge of bent weed
mocking the serenity of the pond
and everything goes still again
till the next ripple,
till the next memory.