by: Saptarshi Bhowmick
I sunk through the Stairway to hell,
Now it’s so heavy how I feel,
Like a boulder on my chest
And a nail, nailed in my heart.
I question thee,
Have you ever felt like this?
Like buried alive in midwinter
Or being alone in the deepest pits of earth.
I hear a shrilling scream_
In fear I looked up, though
The sun is shining still,
Only black rays I see, only black rays I feel.
On my skin it leaves the mark
Of a rinsed cloth and a dead bark.
But I, with the sensation of bleak,
Feeling the numbness on my fingertips:
And whatever it touches,
Starting to beat like a pulse,
Though the origin is blank,
A fruitless phantom of dead impulse.