In Poetry or Lullaby
There are strange noises happening in my apartment. Voices groaning in pain, and crying in anguishing angst. I called the police, as I just thought my depression is talking in hallucination.
The police arrived in time.
I told him about the experience.
“There is nothing we can do to help you. I am not hearing any voices!”
He was looking around.
And I was still hearing the voices. Supplication within. Supplication without.
Supplication in an area claiming to be in the indigenous area. The different “INDIANS” than brown-colored Asian Indians.
And this is Death bed. I am selfish to own only me, there. And this is not an emotional blackmail. Not to you, not to them.
I am none other than just another among a mass, among a crowd, staring at life.
Copyright © Tamanna Ferdous | Year Posted 2022
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