*In My Room

This is my Room.

This is where I behold 
death in all its detail:
when spiders dangling from the cobwebs
suck life out of tiny moths

The faded wings
lying in dust
 mementoes of their last strife.

This is where I hear
silence breaking in to pieces:
when rain falls 
at midnight.

An orchestra in the beginning
And then an avalanche
Engulfing me 
Through the open window.

This is where I discover
the meaning of loneliness:
when from a sleep of unending nightmares
I wake up,panting
find no one to hold hands with
but darkness.

This is where I realise
that the child is no more:
that he is long dead
stabbed and strangled
and dragged in to the dark

The child within.

This is where
from a thousand paper bits
red in colour and spread on the floor
I read, like a revelation
so small a word
yet so enchanting

This is from where all my journeys begin
and to where I return everytime .

To these graffited walls and open window
these orphaned letters in books scattered
the heat the cold
of my Room.

* A tribute to my hostel room where I spent the most part of the last three years.


Rubin, 9446185779 said...

This is from where all your journey begin,
this is the right way to express ur beholds,
keep writing,
my wishes!

Jinju said...

wow!!! i love this poem...just LOVE it! felt like u were giving voice to my own feelings.... superb work! keep writing...ur poems keep me cmng back for more...all d very best, comrade!


thank u guys. glad u liked it.

rose` said...

i like it..
"the child is no more"..elsewhere it is on d verge of death..

susan said...