S
Srijita Sarkar


An assemble of love , euphoria , joy , ectasy , broken heart , hatred , sadness , anxiety , loneliness with a millions of unknown feelings , that paint the canvas of our life with their different colour.


Poésie épique Tout public. © ©SrijitaSarkar

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Wordless

When I look around ,

I can see thousands of artistic people-

writing masterpieces about their lives ,

denoting their sentiments through astounding language and creating the tokens of-

love and pain and happiness and sorrow ,

with deeper and darker sense ,

that touches everyone's heart and leave its mark on their internal soul.


But when I lift up my pen , try to spit out the feelings of mine through a bunch of eloquent phrases ,

all of a sudden I become numb ,

my mind becomes absolutely blank.

I try again and again to detect the perfect word , which can portray the euphoria that makes my body shiver ,

when I think of holding my lover into my arms.

Which can describe the Stardust that sparkles all over my body ,

when my beloved kisses mildly on my forehead. Which can elucidate the satisfaction that runs through my blood ,

when I see my parents' happy faces.

Which can illustrate the calmness that I feel ,

when I observe the very first dim of light of dawn embracing the unreal beauty of a little flora ,

and the cold but amiable morning zephyr gently caressing the deep green grasses-

that are peacefully resting upon the earth.

Which can narrate , the darkness ,

that is silently lying down underneath of my exquisite soul-

on the spotless page of my diary.


After looking for a very long time ,

I fail.

My paralyzed mind makes me comatose.

The empty page on my notebook remains blank.

I continue to feel thousands of feelings at one time - happiness , sadness , anxiety , anger , compassion,

but my fingers stay motionless.

My heart pumps those emotions through my veins , they crumble through my blood and crawl to my mind,

assuming that it'll be able to spot that 'PERFECT PHRASE'-

that can let them out ,

while my mind proceeds to hold onto the silence.

They start screaming and scratching through the dense wall of stillness.

But , they end up being tired.


At the end I keep the pen on its place-

and leave the white page unscratched.


19 Février 2022 03:15:26 0 Rapport Incorporer Suivre l’histoire
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