A poem by Debashree Sinha
To begin with I would want to make exit from myself
But as the mirror smiles at me I wonder “Can I ever get rid of this!”
The bad tempered maid, the the quarelling auto driver
The loud mouthed colleague—
I have distanced myself from all.
Even he was not spared from the spite
But soon my own shadow started to haunt me
But how to distance ‘me’ from myself?
Silence, stormy silence…
Tirra Lirra, Tirra Lirra
Ghosts , Knights , Goblins have caught my tongue
I feel the coming of chaos on my shoulders
But like Prometheus I am bound …
Not to an icicle , to myself
and now for long the keys to my freedom have been lost.