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A Prison Filled With Smoke

 I drew with a pencil that broke in the middle I drew with the shorter half that choked on the riddle I knew it was going to be harder to hide my fiddle I drew on top of a scar that had been ripped open too far I drew the stitches to cover the leakage in rage I made the lead to break I drew dark glasses to hide my eyes from lies that cover my face I drew empty classes where I teach freedom I knew no one would come and take the risk that it encompasses I drew the bucket  that has holes everywhere I drew the station that never sees a train only the pain of everything passing right through the empty tracks I drew a relation that is always in tension what should I say how should I pay what should I do not to stay I drew a blanket to cover my soul I drew a bullet to destroy the ghoul I knew someone will call me out I knew someone will shout I drew a chair where I can sit and think about being fair I drew a floor filled with gravity of good time smoke gathered around me suddenly, I ...

Who Am I




Is this you or Is this just Me..
That I am unable to see.
Closer to free..
So long on a tedious spree.
Tied to the mode..
Of self abode.
Is this who I am or Is this who I have become..
Hilarious to boredom.
Crying silly trying to be free Willy..
Pathetic emphasis..
In search of the lost Oasis.
Joining hands made of sand..
Quicker unwind.
Absolutely unkind..

Is this what I want to be ..
An incomplete caricature.
Of an unknown stature..
Revealing plausible myth.
Covered in a colossal sheath..
Deeper the dive.
The steeper the climb..
Breathing alive yet again.
Worried for future.




Thoughts By -

     Pratiksha Misra

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