Sunday, May 9, 2010

The Pretender

Flailing my hands to reach out to a darkness-
of frights and fights solemnly wrapped in wrath,-
And my strength struggles to bounce back,
and my weakness seems a matter of ignorance.

Lost in a myriad of thoughts to ruminate-
in a regime of silent pathos..
with colors fading away baring a region-
too obtrusively pale to soothe your vision..

My vision, gasping in my Air of Purity,
My vision, blazing in my aureole of austerity..

Today, she heaves a sigh of feigning relief..
since the door,slightly ajar to my daring decadence.

Today, I feel, I'm no bloody insane..
neither a loser and,-
neither the me in myself..
I'm just a fake,-
A clone of the lone vying for the pie of life,
and savoring the straw liquor of putrid intellect.

I keep muttering words of impotent importance.
And with a purple blotch right onto my chest,-
Instincts retaliate to anger and vengeance!


zephyr said...

wht inspires you to reproduce such poems?

Shivani's Blog said...

hmm.....i mst say...
an engn. studnt with such skills of writng...
well wriitn boy....

Sayandeep Kundu said...

thanks zephyr n shivani...
@zephyr me myself and an impulsive compulsion