Futile Reality?

Poet- Oohini Mukhopadhyay

What was that smell,

Like an endless drizzle had finally imbibed desiccation.

Like a lamenting crow had surrendered in isolation.

A subtle sense of native hollow,

silhouettes of the deeds casting a shadow.


Gazing through the dungeons of the subconscious,

behind the overrated smiles and unheard cries,

something murky and obscene lies.

The utterance of which knew no bounds of mortification,

an ever-lasting scar, paralyzing the system,

a serious impediment in comfort.

However, it is sometimes brutally necessary

to make a slight error in judgment,

because to live as an intelligentsia might cost.

And who says, fortune favors the bold,

Doesn’t it always define the anonymity of gold?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s