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Bookworm.
The silence of the halls
rings aloud in my ears
The wind comes in and go
through the broken glass of a dusty window.
The solitude chases me in the mornings.
A different solitude in the evening-
the one where you are surrounded by people
but still feels empty.Alone.
The poems I scribbled
The vigour I sculpted..
Now is the food to beetles and snout moths.
Bookworms.
Will they ever understand the depth of my words?
as they swallow it one by one?
Unpublished writings..fireflies in a bright morning.
The utensils in the sink calls me.
The curry is burnt too.
The wedding ring on my finger
battered in the neverending chores.
Stirring the curry I sigh.
©scribblingsofateen
rings aloud in my ears
The wind comes in and go
through the broken glass of a dusty window.
The solitude chases me in the mornings.
A different solitude in the evening-
the one where you are surrounded by people
but still feels empty.Alone.
The poems I scribbled
The vigour I sculpted..
Now is the food to beetles and snout moths.
Bookworms.
Will they ever understand the depth of my words?
as they swallow it one by one?
Unpublished writings..fireflies in a bright morning.
The utensils in the sink calls me.
The curry is burnt too.
The wedding ring on my finger
battered in the neverending chores.
Stirring the curry I sigh.
©scribblingsofateen
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