- poetry.
Sitting in a crowded land, filled with lonesome folks;
The mind slipped away into a joyous front;
The jingle of the puffed-rice seller, the
Smell of freshly baked pies, the colorful hues
Of my mother’s saree, a tranquility within the air.
I clung onto the barriers, munching on potato-chips,
Hoping to grow-up, hoping to explore the world beyond.
Many winters passed, so did the summers, breeding
Me up to face the much-awaited reality. I crumbled.
The jingle, turned into dreadful, unbearable sounds;
The baked pies, made with much artificial care, had a
Stench; The colors of joy blinded my soul, made me
Obtuse; The tranquility having tuned into a chaotic
Rumble; The world in upheaval, the soul tormented,
Crying out for the shred of hope, diminishing all the
While. I was drowning, juxtaposing with the darkness.
Survival instincts kicked in, half-drowning, half-alive,
I dragged my way to the shores of reality. The other shore.
The jingle tuned off, I, unaffected by the commotion;
The freshly baked pies, had null effect of my
Numbed senses; The colors, no longer, reflecting
My emotions; The tranquility, a non-existent entity.
The world went on, in its mechanical cycle, I,
Stood still, moving, not an inch. The meaningless
Cries, the woeful thoughts, collided, left me
Unscathed. The absurdity of it all, sinking in me,
Making my life a new form of absurd, meaningless. I survived.
Coming back to reality, realising my surrounding,
I got up to fulfill my rhetorical duties.
Living for the sake of it, hoping to die in the lost tranquility.
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