This poem has been submitted by Samraat Basu for the CLATGyan Blog Post Writing Competition. If you think this poem is a good read, ‘Like’ this on Facebook (the button is at the bottom of this piece) and/or post a comment using the ‘comments’ section below.
Looking out the glass window.
Contemplative. Retrospective.
I introspect.
Something is amiss.
What? I ask.
Not really sure of the answer.
I analyse. Dissect.
Think back. Regret? No. Not really.
Just melancholy. Why? I ask.
Why is it all like this?
Where did i go wrong?
Or do i care too much. Maybe too little.
Its a paradox.
Or is it. I question everything.
Everyone. People with faces. People come and go.
My halcyonic thread.
Its broken.
Now its a complex congregation.
Ever winding.
Like an old staircase snaking its way up.
Dark Secrets in the attic.
All seem to tumble out.
People gasp and stutter.
Rooted in shock.
Society cant handle it.
But are my secrets not a part of society.
Its a paradox.
I look out the glass window.
I see society staring back at society.
