Feelings Below False Ceilings. Poem by Avik Datta Gupta

For all those poets and authors,
Don't shun those lines of grief!
Be that jolly good weeping philosopher,
Or that jester writhing for relief!
Weeping tears, that strongly gave the belief!
That they were all yours!
Call it laughter and their bemused smiles,
That don't care attitude, was in vogue and in style!
As you wrote in rhymes and sonnets of lost love,
Betrayal, or that perennial heartache!
Writing of the Stars, the Sun, and the Moon,
Writing about the springtime or the monsoon!

And then one day, just like your poems,
You became lost and invisible,
Invisible in those eyes,
Who didn't realise,
That your disappearance would be a dangerous jolt!
Like that powerful hidden lightning bolt!
Lost inside grieving dark clouds of their pain,
While they would laugh under the clouds, waiting for the rain!

Comfort them with your moist silence!
Observe them closely,
Like a ghostly omen that stalks!
As they feel overjoyed with their insane joys and pleasures,
By gaslighting all the gas that reeked in their heads!
Let them laugh! let them rejoice!
While you can't make them change their choice!
Stay silent with your head down!
Trying to control your own demure laughter,
At their narcissistic folly!
Tickling their minds with insane pleasure,
That pleasurable utopian feel, that they've won!

They won! because you seemingly lost!
With your grief, at their cost!
While they think you were spurned by them,
As you wrote for them, their very own stories!
Subliminally coded in cryptic mysteries!

Poets, Philosophers, and Storytellers!
Dip your spearhead pen into those selfish foolish hearts!
All those who made jokes about your art
Write about your pride!
Write about their wrong feelings!
Which they constantly need to masquerade and hide!
Tell them again, through your pen,
That the mirror they see again and again!
Only shows virtual images!
As they long to see themselves, every moment!
And every moment they question what they see,
Does it look real?
As the mirror replies in joyful lies!
Just like those poems seemingly fried in slithering grief!
Dipped in the hot sauce of philosophy,
That burn their dripping tongues of taste,
With tears displaced, through the slabs of false ceilings.
That broke and fell, upon their mind's numbed feelings!