Without The Noise

Dipanwita Dey

Who am I

when the notifications stop buzzing,

when applause fades,

when the lights dim and disappear,

when no eyes are left to watch?

Who am I

when the corner of the bedside empties quietly,

the pillow no longer wet with secrets,

the chaos no longer hums merrily,

and my father’s strength vanishes—

softly into thin air?

Am I still kind

if no one claps for my empathy?

Still strong,

if no one sees me carry the weight?

Still dependable,

if I crumble silently each day?

In the hush of 3 AM,

without filters, without guilt,

without the crowd, without the noise,

without the need to be enough—

I find her.

The girl who is strength.

The quiet warrior,

secretly fighting her own battle.

She is poetry. She is art.

She writes wildly

and cries without shame.

Without the noise,

I am not the echo of the world.

I am the voice.

Raw. Trembling.

But finally—mine.