My Gallery Has Ended

 

In upper part of my body

A cognitive bell rings

From a dial up connection of live wires;

The modem is working JUST

To repeatedly provide the facsimile of

Barren and bald paths;

Inner lumbering of daily freight

Coiling, clutching upward;

There is no vivacity

The vital force parasited

How I inhale life?

My days and nights are bolted

Inside a brain cell,

My voice has held back;

Now it lays a plan to brawl my soul;

Residing in my own skull

It dictates notes imitating my tone,

If I could disintegrate my recall;

As my shadow has left me

There remains Just I, me and myself,

None is willing to be with me

Why is my brain, a black hole?

How could it not be a universe?

I have a constellation of migraine, tablets

Syringe, backache and insomnia,

Dream has become a dead pattern,

As worn out as fossil led glow;

Everything has become identical

Except the weight of consequence

That has variations of endurance;

As I go through perdition

My imbalance will be rectified,

And after allotted time

My gallery will end,

Then you can hang my art

And me on the wall

 

Sandeep Kumar Mishra


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