What Else, Isn't This Enough
Zephyr, now doomed is drifting to the opposite direction
Bearing with it some strands of my spilling tears
The erred malice is even suffocatingly blended into my veins
Isn't it enough that I am still breathing.
The leaves of the trees once giving me shade n alleviation
Are now itself sloughing in clumps upon me
Hence adjudging me as a mire of live grave
Isn't it enough that I am waiting for the last leaf to shed.
The home I built once is now becoming the ruined walls
Dropping my hopes hard to create a dust storm
Even making my remnant existence invisible
Isn't it enough that I can still see the roof on the top.
My old home lane no more seems familiar to me
Once smiling people are now pointing fingers towards me
As if they have secerned my from their conscious world
Isn't it enough that I am still standing on that lane.
Its raining buckets from unpredictably so long
Every rain drop is trying to smash me to the earth
Even dry coldness is prevailing, cracking my nerves
Isn't it enough that I am still alive feeling the coldness.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (What Else, Isn't This Enough by Rakshita Gupta )
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