anger, life, loss, poetry



And Kashiv filled a glass of water from the kitchen and sat down to read what he had just finished writing in his diary. Earlier in the day he had observed a man, an angry man. Somehow Kashiv seemed to be carrying the same disease on his way back to home. He cursed the lonely lock on the gate as if the lock was supposed to open on its own. He banged the door. And in a fit of anger he sat down to write.


Just in an inane moment,

The concupiscence was lost,

The Reminiscence haunted,

Conscience bitten by frost.


Couldn’t lose prevarication,

Deluged was the sane river,

Was changed in innovation,

Cold, but heat was no fever.


The enamel was all gone,

Couldn’t take anything factual,

Wanted to break free and run,

Short per se; perpetual.


Now fury ubiquitous,

My soul became inanimate,

What a conceptual loss!

Could hold on, it wasn’t fate.


I’ll call the above anger. And immediately I am having a vision. This-

He came again.

He spoke to me again and I recognized the unkempt hair and tired eyes, I recognized him beyond this. He had an adventure to relate or was it just a complaint in disguise?

I heard him speak but I could not listen, and he seemed too hard on ears…




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6 thoughts on “ANGER”

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