Misunderstood. Poem by Subhadip Bhattacharya

Slowly burning in time.
Time traveling at a fixed pace
Finding solace sometimes
Sometimes, not finding the necessity
To live. To earn. To work.
Slowly solace turns to meditative, discreet
Look at the calendar at the desk.

How invigorating it looks.
And the files and diary,
Pen, pencil and markers
To get indulged into something.....
Of importance,
More than life as it looks.
Books.

Craft and art.
We are forbid to create.
At least that's what somebody said.
But I feeling is so good.
Then solace again, time still ticking
And life and death,
Misunderstood.