Dead | Ananya S. Guha
You can never enter a world of
sorrows,
it being just a touching point
trajectory where wind mingles
with rest of the world,
you brush against it
ripples of waves
on seafront,
you touch it and,
you are dead.
You can never enter a world of
sorrows,
it being just a touching point
trajectory where wind mingles
with rest of the world,
you brush against it
ripples of waves
on seafront,
you touch it and,
you are dead.
I have whittled away sorrows
in a tempest that hurled life’s
abuse. After the storm came not the calm but raking ancient sorrows.
Frittering away does not do,
what does is embracing self,
maudlin, and thinking all is lost.
Call me a pessimist if you will, this is a tired song
not ill. Parting is one measure, then lay siege to all treasure.
Whittling away sorrows is sharpening a tool
come on everyone I am no fool.
Plunging into mists of sorrow
the light at the other end
flickers intermittently
then you know mists will lift
and clouds will burst into
thunderstorm.
It’s all forgotten,
flushed down the drain.
What has caused you sorrow,
once caused me pain.