Pratim Bishnu (10/10/1993 / Barrackpore)
I don’t see what it is to be born.
We are just puppets of your will,
tell me why you sit us on the saddle,
for it is your harsh hand that holds this leash.
Tell me now,
I don’t want to be played with anymore,
tell me what is your plan, what is you great design, what is so great about it anyway.
Speak up you sadistic coward, speak up.
It is what you had planned all along, isn’t it?
That bald fellow knew it too,
“There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough,
hew them how you will”.
That guy was true.
See, we see too, we understand.
So why all this, you a control freak?
if it is you who weave this mediocrity, and not us,
if all this fault, this load on our shoulder blades, all this is you,
now, we are not naïve as to try and sew,
but be assured a path is being built, in darkness,
away from your sarcastic endings,
it leads to a place like in those movies,
where all is won, all is truly indifferent yet unique,
a place you have no rule over a place called Neverland.
Comments about this poem (Tell. by Pratim Bishnu )
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