Just 25 (Romanticism) Poem by Indranil Bit

The light of the day slowly smoothen to a nice dim;
Slanting across the extended dining corridor craving;
Floors of mahogany turning a golden visual ecstasy;
Ornamental pots assemble mingling margarita green;
The grandfather clock strike and a bell rang 6 times;
He woke and the easy chair creaked slightly and lazily.

He had fallen deep asleep in the middle of writing;
Drafting the second scene of a play in romanticism;
Whatever be the plot, he thought, romanticism be same;
Two soul! deep thirst! Vile surrounding! Game of lust!
Overthinking are too tiring at times, plots getting jumbled;
‘You never can predict' commented he in despair eyes.

The light of the falling sun crimsoned faster than he thought;
Reaching out for an electric lamp, he suddenly plunged into;
A deep thought in admiration of the sinking crimson glow;
His shadow falling at length of the entire corridor, gigantic;
For the first time he did observe so keenly his own shadow;
An innocent smile surfaced to fill his bosom, he was in love.

In love with something that reflected him, it was his own mimic;
‘Why not my play shall have this? Is it not in fold of romanticism? '
‘I will redefine the word in my play', ‘Every reader shall start to love'
‘Love oneself more, let my play be lore, love to get enacted on floor'
He rushed to grab a pen but slipped to hit his head. Oblivion descend.
The play remain unframed. Romanticism remain un-redefined. An end.