dry ink

all of me?
again?
now my ink is dry and the thoughts lie bare
strange!
yet I had laid it all out for you
didn’t I?
me on paper and nothing less
have I covered all the bits?
well, just the ones I could hide well enough
some I do try to forget
lest the floor tries to swallow me again
I wish I could pretend write
pretend? or ask you to take heed
to the same plea
with a more passionate vein
show me a door that takes it all away
or a singer that makes me forget
for music takes me places
it makes me not break myself
for the poet in me delights in a broken mind
how could I explain myself to you?
when I can’t to myself
I am so much more and less than I show
I don’t believe in the mundane
never the mundane!
for I kill myself daily
why bury myself deeper than I do
it’s the mind that I must fight
for it keeps me from me and all
that I can be
it’s the mind that I must suppress
a mind that I must cage from certain places
it’s a treacherous place and no less
it often tricks me and beguiles me
it makes me want to end the pain

well, how could I explain myself to you?
when I can’t to myself

                                    -Rounak Barman

2 thoughts on “dry ink

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