• adritachatterji 49w


    Sitting under the sunlight
    I can see through my edges.
    Pale skin have been scared by white blotches of winter.
    As the heat penetrates through my ear drums
    I feel warmth. Warmth of a peculiar longing.
    I see my reflection in last night's dews accumulated on the railings.
    And I do not recognise myself.
    A person about to die can understand that his end is very near.
    I do not know why I feel the same.
    A continuous drumming interferes my eerie of silence.
    The distant train whistles to recall me back to reality.
    I sit quietly.
    A fever of madness is running through my viens.
    Yet I am so undisturbed. So untroubled.
    Am I petrified or
    This is just the alarm of the dead?
    I breathe hot air out of my chubby cheeked mouth
    Intervention of complex oxymorons.
    Contemplations of the gones and the going bys
    I sit at the edge benumbed.
    The plants that my father grows so endearingly,
    I can see them grow rough,
    The yellow fellow petals is seeking attention
    They need water to survive on
    Yet I sit. Just sit in tranquil. Staring at the edge.
    All the dust particulates have encircled my body
    The ones, one should keep away from.
    Into the bargain, I inhale the heat
    Notwithstanding the conversations of the banned.
    Have I grown so apathetic that I feel none?
    Are my sour cries of help just in my head?
    I touch my lips.
    Cannot figure out if the fingers have grown rough or just that the lips have grown too insensitive.
    I keep on touching.
    So much to explore myself.
    So little interested humans.
    An odd tune starts playing in my neighbourhood.
    I understand that it is the pain of reality.
    I have felt too much for too long.
    An imperturbable attempt is just an unnecessary requisite now.
    I have walked too long all along in desperation.
    It is now my plate to bear.
    Thus inhaling a deep breath under succumbed sunlight,
    I get up on my feet.
    I feel my knees ache, yet I do not know why.
    Insanely drugged I walk downstairs.
    Into the oblivion.
    Into the desperation.
    Into the verisimilitude.