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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The Silence That Follows
“Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything . . . It is the presence of time, undisturbed. It can be felt within the chest. Silence nurtures our nature, our human nature, and lets us know who we are. Left with a more receptive mind and a more attuned ear, we become better listeners not only to nature but to each other. Silence can be carried like embers from a fire. Silence can be found, and silence can find you. Silence can be lost and also recovered. But silence cannot be imagined, although most people think so. To experience the soul-swelling wonder of silence, you must hear it.”― Gordon Hempton
By Paul Stewart3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Ooh, very nice: you really express the writing experience, as well as the relation between the self, the earth an the skies.