Poem: The Unheard Heart

I wrote this poem when I was on a zoom call. A random thought that sparked, probably from my past experiences.

The poem triggered an exchange with another LinkedIn user — coming to a positive conclusion. Here are the original poem and exchanges.

Poem: THE UNHEARD HEART

The Unheard Heart …

I sit alone and away
Only the sun and waves
On a solitary beach
So that my suffering is unheard
Especially, by you, my dear.

Tears bulge from my eyes
I catch them in my palm
Before they drop on the ground
Lest you hear the sound of their fall
Drawing solace in their warmth

Weeping in silence
A croaking sound escapes
Like a scribble in the air
I cover my mouth
Lest you hear my cries

Oh, my heart beats
So loud that I jump
It is no more the music
Or the language of love
Something went wrong.

Was our distance the reason
That the whispers become screams
Now that we speak
The language of silence
Yet cry aloud when alone

Now I fear that you may hear
And I can’t ever stop
But I fervently wish that
The screams of my heart
Be unheard by you, my dear.

~Ashok Subramanian, © 2022

The Exchanges:

This triggered an exchange of poetry between May Rajoo, from South Africa. Her poem professed that the sea was around for support for the unheard heart.

Dont worry
I am the Sea
I am bigger than all
I hear you
I feel you
I wash away your tears
I will sing to you with my soft waves
And take away your pain

~May Rajoo

I was caught by surprise by the poetic response of May Rajoo. But, the protagonist is deep in suffering, and he looks at the sea circumspectfully.

Your waves
Cackle in happiness
While I still want to alone
Silence and peace
Somewhere I feel
That I am not alone
For you appear to me
In the form of the laughing sea.

~Ashok Subramanian

May Rajoo was bent upon introducing joy into the poem, while I was embracing sorrowful solitude.

Laugh with me
Its infectious
And dance to my sound
Barefeet on the sand
And breathe
To the sound of my waves

~May Rajoo

I had to finally surrender to her positivity. The protagonist had company, finally with positive dose of life.

I thought I had
Moved away from you
But you came to me
In the form of waves
Is this the magic of love
For even if I get away
I get closer to you.

~ Ashok Subramanian

Another eminent poet, a friend of mine, Priya Patel woke up to this poetry exchange. She towed another line in this exchange. This was the protagonist’s lover joining the suffering-in-solitude-fest.

I see you in your corner
that solitary place you retreat to
when you think no one is looking
I see you drowning in your pain,
you smile at me but your eyes
tell me a thousand different stories
I say nothing; you smile at me
and I retreat to my solitary corner
pretending like you to be happy

~Priya Patel

With the suffering tearing the lovers apart, the question arose — what is the solution. I responded with more distance and sorrow.

That makes two hearts unheard
There were whispers before
Now even the screams are unheard
Just because they are too far away
I would never know that you too suffer
Yet, I read your verses of pain
That justifies our distance
For all I know that we hurt each other
Is beyond the earshot the best solution?

~Ashok Subramanian

From the suffering in solitude, now the fundamental question of jilted love arose to the fore. Priya pursued it to the next level.

Why do we pretend to not know
I know you see me
I watch you drown so many times
in the depths of my sullen eyes
We both have caught the tears
from so many hidden cries
that even we cannot distinguish
pain from reality
Are we unheard, or just two lovers
no longer each other’s heartbeats?

~Priya Patel

So the distance was not the issue, but deafness — an impairment of waned love. Here was my response.

It is not the distance then
But our deafness
That we don’t hear each other
An impairment of waned love, perhaps
Like how the flowers wither
And the seasons pass
Or how the nestlings fly away
Did our hearts stop
beating for each other?

~Ashok Subramanian

Now the reasons become the seasons. The lovers were, never meant to be. Here is what Priya Patel wrote:

Perhaps we are the seasons that pass;
the forgotten leaves that once
graced the same branch,
the same youthful leaves,
once green with love;
nestling together
like cuddling doves,
fluttering in the breezes
of Summer and Spring
only just to Fall
We are the forgotten leaves
drifting in corners of solitary silence
quietly remembering the breezes
of Summer and Spring

~Priya Patel

Indeed, the seasons were now the reasons. In spring, bloomed the love and by winter, the heart became cold.

The reasons are now seasons
We were the lovers
But never meant to be
May be flow into one another
Yet distinct like summer and spring
Or more like spring first
when our loved bloomed
and winter finally,
Cold white hearts spell doom
Somehow parading through autumn
As if the seasons are now the reason.

~Ashok Subramanian

This concludes the poetry exchange. It was fun despite the topic being lost romance and sorrowful solitude.

~Ashok Subramanian

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Ashok Subramanian

A poetic mind. Imagines characters, plots. Loves Philosophy, Literature and Science. Poetry-Short Stories-Novels- Poetry Reviews-Book Reviews