Cocoon Of Pain

By Swastik Shekhar Sarkar

They were too quick

To judge his words,

And to understand his silence.

He felt it then;

Why the lunatics bleed,

In paint and in ink;

For in the lap of art,

Rest the martyrs of life.

So, in the dead of the night,

When their “should”s had bruised him enough,

And the heart ached

In inner turmoil,

The poet rose.

By Swastik Shekhar Sarkar