Gridlock Poem by Sumanta Chatterjee

Gridlock



I look at the canvas.
Patches of dry colours
Here and there. Scattered.
Greyscales try to
Force their words. Desperately.
Every dying fragrance.
Every morbid touch
Gleans enigma. To wholeness.
And hallucinations dream
Even hell has a harmony.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: Death
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Sumanta Chatterjee

Sumanta Chatterjee

Katwa, Burdwan, West Bengal, India
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