I want to sing Tagore, Shelly;
Byron, Keats; Browning and Frost,
But my glottal never sounds the tongue.
What would I sing?
The conceptual slavery of my life
or
The absurdities of my social life?
I’m not yet a human being,
I’m something that I fear.
I want to be the nature,
But I am the culture.
Let me get out of here,
For I no longer belong here,
Let me wander around this bubble
like earth
And space like universe.
Comments
Post a Comment