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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 ...
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Self Esteem





There were streets full of people,
Rushing towards me.
As I gaped into the crowd,
But not a single one looking at me.

There were streaks of laughter,
Piling on me.
As I tried shutting my ears,
While I sat there wiping my tears.

There was a push and a grunt,
Letting me go.
As I forced myself,
Avoiding the violent stunt.

There was a wave of darkness,
Floating right in front.
As I encountered astonished,
Never attempted hiding embarrass.

There was truth which tasted like filth,
A sheath covered but showed naked.
As I stood misunderstood,
Unable to climb up or intrude.

There was faith which mislead,
A courage to be dealt.
As I stared at the crescent,
Holding on to the impatient.

There was a final drop,
Which gleamed.
As I retraced my steps,
Taking the whiff of the remaining self esteem.




Thoughts by -
Pratiksha Misra.








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