prabhakar bhatlekar

Framed - Poem by prabhakar bhatlekar

These, and many other
over-stashed things
needed to be
nicely framed?
Even if framed
it vanishes or breaks.
Why is a compulsion
of presenting it before
you, or someone?
Is it binding?
In a quite moment
within a flash
you realize
the nothingness of it.
In many shades of day
and within Emerald-Blue
night reflections
there's a flashing game
futile to analyze!
Many critics try and fail.
You never sympathies but
blankly keep watching them
because you're unsure
of your own framed things.
So, this the game being
played again and again.

Topic(s) of this poem: images

Poet's Notes about The Poem

Futile game

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Poem Submitted: Monday, November 28, 2016

Poem Edited: Friday, February 10, 2017

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