Tuesday, 24 May 2011

Split Poet

He found solace in play of words,
As he butchered hope's tiny birds.
He lost himself in the war of words,
As he buried all his mind's swords.

From one insanity to another, 
He falls like a broken feather.
His mind runs a thousand times,
On the thought, which eternally rhymes.

Caught in his own mind's treason,
He appears to be single person,
But each moment his is many,
Alas the next moment he isn't any.

His moods swing from left to right,
As his thoughts, he sits to write.
His thoughts jump from right to left,
Until sleep makes his mind's theft .

Me vs Myself

Submitted for :


  1. And the battle rages on forever...it can't stop for that would mean the muse is lost and so is the writer....explosive thoughts in expressive words. Thanks for the visit. :)

  2. well, is this my psyche report? hmmm...awfully close...smiles.

  3. Oh! I can feel his mania and anxiety!

  4. It feels bipolar. I love the line he butchered hope's tiny birds. Really nice piece.

  5. Great use of rhyme, as you set forth with each chime. Yeah a real psyche/ADD type feel to it.

  6. Oh my my!! Can I identify with this character or what!!! Torn as hell... wheww!

    Emotions and dilemma brilliantly captured here, Umesh!!

  7. Looks like this could go with DSM IV.

    In case you don't know what that means:


  8. Disturbed, interesting, and in some areas, beautiful!

  9. Thanks J :)
    Was a bit disturbed when I wrote it.