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In The Urn of Forgotten Days by Himanshu Ranjan

Himanshu Ranjan | Nov 4th, 2019 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

I rub my palm on the cold wall,
and it feels my sorrow drains out
the temperature difference.

A wave of sounds encircles me,
yet I find a silence engulfs
my existence like an ocean
painting far from the shores.

My mind has got a navel string
that keeps knotting itself to
monomaniacs sleeping inside.

What burns more?
The oil that lights a deep
or the light that pours inside
a bottle toiled with darkness?

When it starts to rain,
and the birds’ nests are far away,
they take shelter and sing of
their forefathers -floating amidst the clouds.

I fumble for a piece of my memory
in the urn of forgotten days
that was once so special that
I could cherish it in my dreams.

A teardrop, an absence,
the presence of the past
in the present. A reel unfolds
a cinema – we watch it in solitude
and fail to understand it together.

Poet Bio

Himanshu Ranjan lives in Nashik, Maharashtra. He is a poet and a Young India Fellow. His anthology is titled ’36 Love Stories’ in which he has composed thirty-six sonnets and a sestina. His poems have appeared or forthcoming in ‘Eunoia Review,’ ‘Poetry Potion,’ ‘Scarlet Leaf Review,’ and Indrdhanush.’ He loves teaching chemistry.

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