//Stories//

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  • Emotional

    //Stories//
    When a bagful of slumber made my eyes red
    When the old teacher questions the tables
    at the neighbour's mud-coated varenda
    A lurking cane spells me stammering with usual mistakes.
    A lantern throws my forty-five drgree bending shadow towards an uneven darkness.

    I was poor in mathematics
    thats what the teacher said
    when the crab like me from the old maid's innumerable folds,
    tried hard to drive away
    the pleasure of sleep
    and the burden-some promises to be picturised in the book,

    The old maid said many a times
    under the blanket of her fables
    that there is a 'me' with me.
    the inner one is demonic
    when another has the God's stolen mask.

    years after ..I turned to stories.

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    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    abhash0’s Poems (41)

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