Poem: My gallery has ended

By: Sandeep Kumar Mishra

cognitive

In upper part of my body
A cognitive bell rings
From a dial up connection of live wires;
The modem is working JUST
To repeatedly provide the facsimile of
Barren and bald paths;
Inner lumbering of daily freight
Coiling, clutching upward;
There is no vivacity
The vital force parasited
How I inhale life?
My days and nights are bolted
Inside a brain cell,
My voice has held back;
Now it lays a plan to brawl my soul;
Residing in my own skull
It dictates notes imitating my tone,
If I could disintegrate my recall;
As my shadow has left me
There remains Just I, me and myself,
None is willing to be with me
Why is my brain, a black hole?
How could it not be a universe?
I have a constellation of migraine, tablets
Syringe, backache and insomnia,
Dream has become a dead pattern,
As worn out as fossil led glow;
Everything has become identical
Except the weight of consequence
That has variations of endurance;
As I go through perdition
My imbalance will be rectified,
And after allotted time
My gallery will end,
Then you can hang my art sale
And me on the wall

 

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