Morning Boredom Poem by Biajy Mohanty

It engulfs you like a mist
Seeping through
To your essence

An awkward silence
Tries and answers the screams

A bullock runs around
The pole, the trailing load
Creating a rut

A frog croaks in oblivion
As if not needing a response

Even the rays of the sun
That have started eating
The frightened mist
Are unhurried in their
Golden, silken dress

Windows have opened up
In the sky to take in
The vapour. Yet, the inside is damp.

Large chunks of falling
Time bury you in an avalanche
Memory that have gone bad
But reclaimed by a sudden
Urge at necrophilia

You try rearranging the thoughts
But the actions wouldn’t come
You stay buried till
The impossibility of quietness recalls

The silence within the scream
Takes its time to surface

The bullock goes round
And round and round…
Until the morning dies
In sun’s anger.