The Quiet Cage

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I feel it sometimes-

the seventh color of a distant rainbow

resting softly on my eyelids,

a quiet magic that dances in my fading moments.

I hear it in the silence,

a gentle song brushing against the edges of my mind,

even as my footsteps falter

along paths I once knew.


But shadows gather here.

I am a prisoner within my own memories,

walls closing in with each slipping thought.

Moments I held so clearly

now scatter like fragile clouds-

beyond my reach, beyond my control.


Some days, I forget myself entirely.

The clothes I wore, the rooms I occupy,

even the simplest of tasks-

they vanish into a fog that I cannot grasp.

My bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom-

they blur, interchangeable,

and the world feels heavy with confusion.


Yet sometimes,

like sunlight piercing a storm,

a fleeting memory breaks through.

I glimpse the sugar jar on the kitchen counter,

its sweetness a small rebellion against time.

And I reach for it,

angry, laughing, crying like a child,

grasping at life’s fragments

before they slip away again.


When a familiar face appears,

my heart leaps and then trembles.

I run, startled,

hiding in shadows,

lost between recognition and fear-

until I am caught, gently returned

to the quiet cage of my days.


My mind is soft now, like white butter,

sensing only tastes, smells, and the faint scent of medicine.

I lie where silence gathers,

helpless, watching the hours drift.


And yet…

even here, I feel it-the whisper of a rainbow.

A color, a light, a memory of warmth,

a promise that not all is lost.

In the storm of forgetfulness,

a tiny joy persists,

a flicker of hope

that life’s colors have not abandoned me entirely.


I pray that when tomorrow comes,

I am not a shadow alone,

eyes full of longing from a darkened room.

I pray that someone, somewhere,

will see the spark within me

and remember that I once knew sunlight, laughter, and love.


The rainbow waits, patient and gentle,

its colors soft and eternal.

And even in the quiet of these fading days,

I hold onto it-

my own fragile, luminous dream.


“My conflicting positions turn inward, becoming an act of self-negation rather than mere indecision.” -Jayankarthika

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