A Musical Fulcrum


I might be sentenced to a lifetime of gathering dust,
This ancient headache might stick to my head like ancient rust,
I may never act again, but I know that the show must

Go on

The unsteady and unwell musical fulcrum tilted,
The titling tatter of totalitarian senses jilted,
Miserly over me their residual river silted

Then went on

Darkness punch-holed it’s way through the light,
Powdering the visible over the pondering bright,
Yet I let my day dream continue despite

The dream was gone

In an unsteady dilemma in the malodorous telephone booth,
Or maybe over the melodramatic fountain of almost eternal youth,
I bechanced upon the almost bearable truth

That I didn‘t live anymore.


Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.

5 comments:

MISSquoted** said...

'In an unsteady dilemma in the malodorous telephone booth,
Or maybe over the melodramatic fountain of almost eternal youth,
I bechanced upon the almost bearable truth

That I didn‘t live anymore.'

pretty intense ;-)
i see you have blogrolled moi...how very kind...i was actually thinking of doing the same[believe it or not BEFORE i caught myself on your blogroll]

surajsharma said...

Thanks for reading the poem.
I Appreciate the comment. =)

MISSquoted** said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
surajsharma said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
MISSquoted** said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

Post a Comment

 

This content comes from a hidden element on this page.

The inline option preserves bound JavaScript events and changes, and it puts the content back where it came from when it is closed.

Click me, it will be preserved!