Friday, November 11, 2011

PROPHYLACTIC

The dear doctor decided
I should be cured, forever
Neither pain, nor anguish
No more tears

Now, I look at you smiling
From the LCD screen, and
In vain, search for sorrows
Familiar

Only a faint memory
Of a tortured existence
Murmurs from across keyholes

May be the dear doctor meant
I would be fine, forever
As the pills give love parole

2 comments:

baburam said...

hugs. :)

Kaustav Bakshi said...

Love's but
A peep-hole act
An immeasurable vastness
On the other side
Myopic I feel
As I look through!

I pine to soak
In that vastness
The door remains shut
The keyhole is all
That I have!