A Confused Mind

Crawling they'll come up,
and go down again,
what they want to say,
it's hard to understand
because of all the confusion.
Too many words together mixed up
and a single mind to take decisions.
Now, what should I say,
and what should I write,
Where's my voice?

Comments

  1. Deboshree25 December 2010 at 07:32

    Where's my voice???
    Perhaps it got overshadowed by the persistent sound of all the varied thoughts that enforce the perplexity!!
    It does come out when silence pervades the turbulence of the thoughts and we find our peace :-)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A visit to Baoli

Image
Maybe the pigeons know, standing on the doors of their tiny homes, A pair I could see, one massaging the other's neck, Stiff on a weekday morning.  Inside, a community adorns the walls; There goes another, carrying a piece to bring home. Would their fathers and their father's father know, Only if I could ask them, If I could make the meaning out from their song, But I sit here in silence, Making peace with my ignorance after all, As the tall buildings grow taller, And these steps taciturn. 
Read more

Winter

I sit I slide down Shift myself underneath the blanket To keep my feet warm After a while it gets hot My sweater My socks They keep rolling down From the blanket To the bed, to the floor I shiver A pair of cold feet touches mine I push, I kick I shift to the other side Sister, why do you always have your feet so cold? Close your eyes And it’s dark It is cold, it is December Shall I blame it? And sleep until lunch
Read more

Nine metres to centimeters: Evolution of Sari

The sun sets while the loyal footsteps of a shadow enveloped in a drape of rudhira walks down from one corner of the house to another in obedience. Multiple jobs and multiple voices call out her name every second, asking for a lifelong performance. Happiness in the smiles of others, the belief that is carried; ingratitude is ignored. Selling pieces of herself for their sake, vaulting the tears in a closet and wishing for the dawn to come sooner. The image of her likeness stands up, and cuts the cramp of her sheets of toil, metamorphosing it into a modern art, walking down the streets under the sun of liberation.
Read more