Diary Poem by prabhakar bhatlekar

The fluttering sound of
half-written diary
lying on table by the window.
Who knows when the papers
entered machine, cut properly,
fitted within the hard cover
and came my way!
Fresh smell of fine papers,
class touch of leather cover.
By the rolling time I wrote...
went on and on
and stopped halfway.
In a meaningless state
watched far-away words.
And then the diary left
at the table by window making
endless sound of fluttering.
Am there watching this
from the distance,
for no particular reason.