Me desolately writing
With sole pen between fingers
Away from the crowd
This time just a foot
Yet before was a dozen
Difference?
Perhaps not
.
Distinct place
Distinct people
Distinct circumstances
Though same echoes
Same laughter and taunts
.
I did it?
Or was I made to?
Cognate everywhere
White sheets dead beings
Homogeny again
.
Constant dreary glares
Upon me, inside me
Guess it is
Homogenous within homogeny
.
Burning like a fire,
Melting the whole ball of wax
In a trice; smoky
Mist and clouds
Faded with air
Can’t see, not-a-one can see
.
Earth is round they say
Well it sure is
Going through same episodes
Again and again
Like chalk and cheese
Thrown out always
Stuck in the metamorphosis
.
About the Creator
Riju Chaulagai
I am in my early 20s and I have been writing poems for a couple of years now.
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Comments (1)
Ooh, very nice: you really express the writing experience, as well as the relation between the self, the earth an the skies.