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A Self Increminatating Saga

By Sreemanti Bag

Sometimes, I keep questioning my sceptical self

“Am I okay? Am I okay?”

Burdened with diurnal tasks of monotony,

Breaking the sanctity of my inner soul’s harmony;

In an anticlockwise direction, my mind tends to sway,

My moral character leaps from white to grey;

Then my sceptical self keeps questioning me –

“Are you okay? Are you okay?”

In my memories, I harbour my pious self,

In my conscience, my virtues, my ethics and my spiritual pledge still dwell;

I dream to be a messiah, a saviour of humanity,

But in reality,

My financial crunches make my dreams fail;

I start begging for more and more,

I start honking with moans galore,

The harsh reality

Breaks my bond of indemnity

Against resurrection of piety,

I tend to disregard the power of almighty,

I feel reluctant to pray;

Then my sceptical self keeps questioning me –

“Are you okay? Are you okay?”

I open my eyes to kiss the sunshine,

The dusk ushers on my lashes as the stain of port wine,

Night crawls into my closed eyes,

Like the sombre melody of my grandma’s lullaby;

And then, the dawn looms again,

When my heart starts wreathing in pain –

The pain of unaccomplishment,

The pain of feigned enjoyment,

And, the pain of unemployment –

That keeps me down every now and then,

I wish if I could die another day –

Then my sceptical self keeps questioning me –

“Are you okay? Are you okay?”

By Sreemanti Bag

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