Poem: The Master of My Echo Chamber

I had to get this out. This is a poem that I could do without, but life is not about lemons, but about demons for a person close to me. I wish her the best.

Poem: The Master of My Echo Chamber

Slow, mild whistles turn to whispers
A smile breaks, no surprise there
The soothing words of solace soften
into the melting warmth of my bleeding heart
Your whispers are my company, my friend.
Love should be like this — soft, smooth, soothing.
The acoustics are perfect for my peace.
I am not alone… the whispers agree.

The physics of sound is complex -
I am a master in science, yet… I can’t fathom.
The frequency, resonance, and echoes.
The whispers amplify — firm and floating
Like a soft breeze becoming a wind
a rhythmic crescendo of garrulous noise
reverberating right between my ears
where are the whispers now
just the cacophony of echoes.

This is not a concert, certainly
A horror show on audible
The echoes now gaining voices
No more whispers of love
The walls of my echo chamber bulge
the crescendo peaking between my ears
A podcast that I cannot switch off
My will weakens to listen -
the commandments of my master
the lord of my echo chamber
I am a slave, trapped between
the fear of loneliness and
the demon in my dungeon
How will the climax go …
the ending you never want to know.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

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