Friday, July 20, 2012


In My Little Room

The flower vase stood alone,
Still and elegant,
The flowers spread all around,
Withered and silent,
My memories lay strewn,
In bits and pieces,
And as I sit at my desk,
The words don’t flow easily.

Desolate days and numbing nights,
Fill the years,
That have passed me by,
The waking hours and in my sleep,
I dig and burrow deep,
To the depths of my soul,
To piece together,
To find my goal.

In the corner the lamp stands,
Dark and a fused bulb,
A lone spectator of the happenings,
Throws no light,
On my predicament.
And the walls watched,
As they joined hands,
Frightened that I may fly away.

1 comment:

jagannath rao said...

vivid. I never thought Subbu was so much inwardly sad.