Rupesh Jhabak
New member
Mutability
When I am pushed into certain blank corners
Of my mind, screaming like a wounded wheel,
I let my incomplete glances stain that vacuous
Space with insulted meanings and distractions.
I question if the existence of my stark thoughts,
Like witnesses without doubt forgotten, carry
A barren superfluity of words or they are just
Paradoxes that are evidently misunderstood.
Very often, a frequent repetition, once again
Echoes the anger of my enchained words, and
Unknown to me they walk around my reason
With calm, with fury, and with forgetfulness.
The true in me has become lie’s masquerade,
And I misguide my anguished heart to succumb
Into the heavy embraces of my broken being;
My word has departed and it grows on its way.
When I am pushed into certain blank corners
Of my mind, screaming like a wounded wheel,
I let my incomplete glances stain that vacuous
Space with insulted meanings and distractions.
I question if the existence of my stark thoughts,
Like witnesses without doubt forgotten, carry
A barren superfluity of words or they are just
Paradoxes that are evidently misunderstood.
Very often, a frequent repetition, once again
Echoes the anger of my enchained words, and
Unknown to me they walk around my reason
With calm, with fury, and with forgetfulness.
The true in me has become lie’s masquerade,
And I misguide my anguished heart to succumb
Into the heavy embraces of my broken being;
My word has departed and it grows on its way.