arka chattopadhyay

Once - Poem by arka chattopadhyay

The deaths carried by sounds,
Are the deaths that we evade.
The depths trodden by life,
Are the depths that we create.
Just let me be your soul,
That lulls the dust to sleep.
When all the sounds are dead,
You have no hole to dig
You have no skin to scratch
Just scratch upon your sin
A still-image of life!

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Langston Hughes


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Poem Edited: Friday, October 15, 2010

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