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,

you

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

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