Rosmin Elsa Mohan
Rosmin Elsa Mohan Poems
|1.||' Arike '... So Close!||8/16/2012|
|2.||' Diya '||1/23/2012|
|3.||' It Could Never Have Been Better... '||8/18/2013|
|4.||** December **||12/14/2011|
|5.||A Toast To Poetry||3/21/2012|
|8.||Black & White||2/11/2015|
|10.||Crossing The Bridge||3/22/2012|
|12.||Dreams In Prussian Blue||1/23/2014|
|15.||It’s Life Indeed||8/20/2013|
|17.||Life' S Not All A Bed Of Roses!||8/7/2011|
|28.||The Shore’s But A Sea Apart!||2/6/2012|
|29.||The Three Phases...||2/13/2013|
|32.||Who Am I?||1/30/2012|
|33.||Why … Why Not?||4/11/2012|
|34.||You, Me, We …||10/29/2014|
I once dreamt of an open field,
The bareness of which alone did shield,
A shadow so frail, in a shadow as such
I thought as much.
I felt it again on my bed at night
Darkness; through which I saw the light
Silence - to feel; and to feel so weak,
Silence, I think I heard her speak.
The crowd through which I made my way,
Gave me a second to poise it through
Shouts around, though I felt them nay,
The Me within, in silence too.
The hours of solace so gifted in tune,
A language unworldly, (beyond the moon!)
To realize it ...
I loved candles. Now I know why.
The only sound I could hear was my own heart beat. The morning seemed no longer bright. For a fact, Room No.903, commonly known as the ICCU at AIIMS, had no windows. Morning and nights equally smelled of antiseptic. I had started to forget the smell of my skin. The needle that pierced the epidermal tissues offered no sensation after all. The insanity of the entire room as though reflected on me, as I had started to become a vegetable.
It was last Tuesday