Mask And Me - Poem by Prayag Saikia
A tumult in me.
There will be
no more play with the mask.
Till now I've worn many.
With simple nudity
it's hard to become a tree;
Still there should be penance,
endeavour from the prostrating soul
to clean the defiled thoughts.
How tremendous is the rebel ‘I'
clinging not to selfhood,
but crossing the valley of perpetual flux
to vast emptiness.
No need for it
for a rebel in this stage.
Changes start from sorrow;
The eruption from a sudden spark is trivial.
Comments about Mask And Me by Prayag Saikia
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl