My Gallery

My Gallery In upper part of my body A cognitive bell rings From a dial-up connection of live wires The modem is working just To repeatedly provide the facsimile of Barren and bald paths Inner lumbering of daily freight Coiling, clutching upward There is no vivacity The vital force has parasited How I inhale life? My days and nights are bolted Inside a brain cell, My voice has held back It lays a plan to brawl my soul Residing in my own skull Dictates notes imitating my tone I couldn’t disintegrate my recall As my shadow has left me There remains Just I, me and myself, Why is my brain a black hole? Could it not be a universe? Of a constellation of migraine, tablets Syringe, backache and insomnia Dream has become a dead pattern As worn out as fossil led glow Everything has become identical Except the weight of consequence That has variations of endurance As I go through perdition My imbalance will be rectified Hang my art on the wall As after allotted time My gallery will end