Tumulting thoughts devour me, like a demon
Guzzles its helpless prey;
Whose scream and shriek goes unheard
By the victims of some other predicaments.
Still my consciousness keeps battling against
The dark thickening clouds of
Sham establishments;
Where the creation and creator are interfused,
Glistening falsities camouflage the stream of nothingness
And man with a sack of money in his hand, is left as a beggar
Knowing not from whom he begs and what he gets.
But to pause and ponder makes me ache of an uncommon pain
As though my esoteric ideas are my own properties
Yet I am the man who is everything else except what he is.
Subhra Souranshu Pujahari
Sambalpur University
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