Written by Ipsita Pradhan
You,
With your closed walls,
With doors of wood,
Of windows of glass,
Of manners and stories,
Of words and play,
Of interests and stories,
Changing everyday,
Of learned ways,
Of truths and lies,
With raised eyebrows,
And dropped voice.
You,
Who lingers,
Only to ignore some more,
Cannot hear my voice,
With your changing moods,
And changing you,
As if reality,
For you,
Was just a passing thought.
Text © Ipsita Pradhan
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