I hurt my foot at the bottom of the stairs.
Now I am scared.
How will I climb up through the layers?!
"Minor sprain," the voice
from the aseptic shroud says.
Caricature of a comforting statement.
The ladder is long,
And shadows gather behind me.
Shadows, they instill in me
Things I would rather not have.
I remember my Grandma:
Picture of quiet & snow hair,
Telling animated stories of goodness and honesty,
Surrendered to the deep belief
Of her sons' dedication to duties.
I was angry then,
And I am angry now.
But an amateurish picture of Grandma
Is all that I paint.
(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma
Monday, July 23, 2007
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1 comment:
nice one
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