Friday, December 30, 2011
Death: 'From not being yourself'
Perfect Poet Award, Week 57
In the far corners of different streets lay two closed houses
One fine day you knocked on mine..and I on yours
We both opened them with creaking hesitancy
Just to let in some fresh air perhaps…
But then, with the suddenness of realization
Of happiness unfamiliar..the doors closed on us
Society had of course ordered-
Be X..be Y..be Z
But never be you
The closed doors remained closed forever
In the pungent smell of decay..
And goodness coated with maturity
The smell then turned to poison
One day when each of us had died
Of good manners, maturity and society
And wrapped ourselves in the incense of the heavens ..
We had died of being ourselves..
© 2011 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury
Image courtesy http://www.gaylecurry.com/100paintings/karenorr/ko_painting21.html