The Room

Stuck in my dusty room,

With no rush to clean up the mess.

Year old dust particles make their home,

Safe and sound,

On each corner, the table, the wardrobe, the computer desk.

And I guess they also get under my skin, into my lungs, and my head.


If you come and look around, you’ll nod and say,

“Yup, this is a complete mess!

Why do you need that for? Those useless pieces of paper

That rusty pin, that cable, that ribbon.

Those broken toys

Throw ’em away! Throw it all away!

Only keep the things you need. “

And yes, I do think that’s the right thing to do, indeed.


But how can I throw it all away?

Wash away all my old things, the tiny little objects

And all those memories that relate to them.

The memories that kindle all my surreal dreams and nightmares?


I don’t think I can.

Yet, with all the hatred, sorrow and guilt in my hands.

I pray, I wish for a quick, clean escape from this materialistic world.

All these objects, mere physics, sewn with particles by particles.

All our emotions, thoughts & feelings are nothing but chemistry.


I just wish that all of these would vanish,

And the sky would turn a calm, soothing paper-white.


I will bask in that eternal whiteness.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s