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The feverish movement,Of fingers and mind
The delirious haze,
Of thoughts left behind
The drowning sounds
Of calls for a hand.
Theres none there
Who would understand?
Days go by,
The river keeps flowing.
The size of waves,
By day keeps growing
Drowns, then surfaces
A paper she holds
Will add to collection,
Thinks, neatly folds.
Thinks of those who,
Have stuff to count
She only has,
Her Paper mount.
New day has to start.
She will collect paper, But,
Who will collect pieces of heart?
2 comments:
Hey, this has more pathos than your other creations...most people will identify with it, attributing different significances to 'paper' :) keep it up gal..u r growing from one height to another...
u r really improving on this! ... may be its the same sad note, but u r surely going to master on it ...
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