My Soul

November 19, 2011 at 11:14 am (Amitava Nag, Poetry)

“You allow yourself

to be tormented”,

the Holy Mother is pensive,

“Like you” – I bury the

rough sea inside.

It repeats every time,


leave me in abyss,

an audience jeers at the drama

and you walk in

from the audience –

to take turns.

I have frozen your credits

to plastic cards

in my wallet,

bulging and red,

one day

I will let them float –

confetti covering

my soul.

– Amitava Nag


Permalink Leave a Comment

The Mind

November 12, 2011 at 11:04 am (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)


has grown thin

like smoke

words are water



that grow

in the silence

some become poems

some fade away.


-Dominic Alapat


Permalink 1 Comment

%d bloggers like this: