Jaya Varma

(05-03-1985 / Faizabad)

In The Silk Of Cold Smoke..


It’s quiet,
Outside,
And inside,
The restless mind fights
With its own tides
Old basics back up my physics
And I, like some serious kids
Count the ridges
The gaps and bridges
On my wrinkled mind,
Eventually ending up blind
With anger and hurt
As almost everything looks absurd
I get hold of the darkness
It gasps in my clenches
The air is no more fluid
Only the madness, oscillates through it
I admit, I wish to speak no more
But something echoes like a king’s roar
That makes my eardrums bleed
And as the thoughts are being teased
My face is in black paint
Embarrassed like a fake saint
Hardly anyone to look upon
I shrink into myself all alone
Fist full of nightmares
Knowing well that nobody really cares
I choke and breathe and choke
In the silk, of this cold smoke.

Submitted: Monday, December 02, 2013
Edited: Monday, December 02, 2013
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  • Savita Tyagi (12/2/2013 8:54:00 AM)

    A beautiful poem and a pleasure to read. Knowing that nobody cares is a hurt feeling and a step stool for self reliance. (Report) Reply

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