Melancholy Poem by Bindu Borle

Morbid atmosphere hangs around.
Silence. Deep silence.
A colorless vision.
No more blinding lights.
Winds passes, stops and looks around
There is stillness once again.
Everything as it is, untouched.
Tired bodies with languid souls.
Clock ticking away fast with every minute and hour.
Except for the heartbeat.
There and yet not there.
The Blues.
Great Depression.
Gazing into the obscure one finds nothing except solitude.

Copyright © 2006, Bindu Borle