Retrieved Pieces of My Lost Poetry

I stood up, in the dark
In my half-slept awkward bed,

Letting the string of broken dreams

Enjoy a free sub-conscious wander!

The clock struck 2’

Alarming my weak beating soul!

The wail of a night bird resonated

Lamenting at its sleepless curse!

I recollected a lost time,

When I put on a poet’s charming robe!

Sometimes the words came in a flow

Sometimes with its usual blockades!

I thought, was it a dream?

Had I made such so called attempts?

Or was it just the smartness

Exhibited by a words’ apprentice?

In the dark, a support I searched for

With my wavering quivering hands!

My thumping heart too had become

Anxious at the loss of reality!

As the first rays of light

Touched the earth in golden mist!

I started yet another day

With the regained consciousness!

Isolation

Isolation,
With its clinching cold fingers
Clench your heart as not to move
Like a classic fairy tale bee,
Caught in a fictitious spider’s net.

Isolation,
Is like the suffering under a tyrant,
A blend of monotony and inhibition,
Some sort of separation, hurtful, and,
A barrier that blocks your maturity.

A college classroom,
An ordinary one that is set in a peaceful young ambiance,
Where politics smells and flirtatious comments are flown.
A noisy noon after the lunch, fill with gibbering chitchats,
With frivolous teenage songs and with puppy romances.
Amidst these playful parties, one is disinterested, sits apart
Brooding on shattered dreams, hoping for the timer to ring,
Isolated one, it could be you, she, him or me.



Back to your home,
Gazing outside, through your own that special window,
Right there in your own room, with a melancholy mood.
Speaks yourself, smiles alone, and making fanciful stories.
Find ease in thoughts or in virtual journeys through books,
Sensing soliloquies, making sickly strategies like a maniac.
Sing alone, tease yourself and rethinking your own past,
Isolated one, you, but it could be she, him or me.



The pony-tailed girl,
I know her, I think she too knows, but not a familiar one,
The girl, who has silky sort of hair and white sneakers,
With a pair of vanity specs and appealing attire in style.
A jolly type, not my kind, with plentiful admirers around.
She has not seen me among her beaus, as I am a shy one,
Often, I have to pretend as if I am in some grave thoughts.
Isolated one, I am, but it could be you, she or him.