on the sofa he lays
a weary soul yearns for a prayer
he's been away for a long tiring journey
till he loses all his hair so grey
in the corner let us pray
with incense from Mumbai raised high
wishes and hopes, a constant praise
to the Divine one, the Holy Ray
this broken soul on the sofa
renouncing his life so true
like a bird perches on a twig
tweeting its story white and blue
and how he paints his image
pale but sweet
under the sofa now he peeps
at his wrecked soul he tries to hide
only to find angry roaches
that keep their stories in the same pit
secretly wrapped in a piece of anguished paper
crumpled
and
tormented
@made in poem
march 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment