The Caged Comfort

By Himadri Shailesh Patel

The escritoire is burdened with blank sheets of sucks,

Covertly written with the tints of tears amidst those sums of calculus.

The tears are surging through the notebook to recite an incredible narrative

but no formula has those guts.

And in the play of fame and shame,

We are left with a heart-pumping anxiety towards the brain.

The mind has been crestfallen by a wave carrying fears of loss

And has obliterated to shine in spite of winning the toss.

The child has enormous faith in the paper boat floating in the pool of dreams,

And the man has never made that boat out of his regrets’ screams.

The dalliance macrocosm is ready to exploit an awake corpse,

And a child is still sustained on swords given by delusive dignified thorpes.

The world is independent but has put our aspirations in a strained orphanage.

The winds are wandering candidly but do not let our breaths fly.

The streams have surpassed the stone to make its way,

But our retina is still crystallizing reflections with the ray of dreams which are robbed away.

How can we say ourselves sovereign,

When we are still selecting the aisle conforming with shoulder’s tonnage?

To make the castles of contentment in the sky of hopes,

No one cares how we have become the witnesses of dopes.

And growing up learning an humming “healthy, wealthy, and wise”,

No one did ask about the mental health graved in the essence of a prize.

The moon has more stories than the sun.

Cause the insomnia is burst into the blood vessel by an overthinking gun.

The small soul is all set to be a Tzar.

But the teen palpitations exhausted by society have confiscated that persona behind the bars.

Those eyes that see astonishing fantasies while heading up

Are now seeing hanging hopes of faded dreams inside a dark blue envelope.

By Himadri Shailesh Patel