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Srijeeta Manna Poems
I wither away with time. The wind still blows across my face, whispering in my ears the reasons to embrace.
Untitled may be
Sultry afternoon thoughts give me some pleasure today. Counting the leaves of the mysterious tree, immortality fencing up my garden,
Life under a trigger, impatient to leave, craving for love. I close my eyes
Sleep and death
The wall between my mind and soul takes away my might as a whole. I lay here lifeless, motionless and still,
Rest In Peace
The familiar faces from the past, the realities of this world so vast keeps changing every single day in a canopy of work and play.
Loser I am of the game whose rules had been set by me. Loser I am to the person whom I loved with glee.
Words can be fake; Relations at a stake. Broken are promises; Unfulfilled wishes.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
I wither away with time.
The wind still blows across my face,
whispering in my ears
the reasons to embrace.
The shadow behind me
still stands there,
though a little apart.
I do not know if it is an illusion
or a dream,
or an entire theme.
Necropolis is what I call
where i bury myself
over and over again.