The perfect glass bubble…broken

a poem by Sourav Hazra

I sit in the classroom,
listening to a lullaby of sorts,
learning materialism and cogitating of the freedom of life.

These four walls hedge me in,
society sounds me in,
a whirlwind – revolving, twisting, turning
within my cerebral cortex – a collage of emotions.

Sudden reverie broken into,
by the harsh sounds of reality.
Words, insults rush past me…
opening scathing wounds in my already dented
armour of thoughts.

Why do dreams signify the castles in the air,
the truth so cruel and unsounding.

Leave me to my visions, my hopes, my wishful thinking,
let me live in that world,
where even the indolent, the dull and the luckless succeed,
through shortcuts.

So I am running…..running far away,
to escape the clutches of the present,
which has given me nothing, except
the urge to cry, to ululate
over shards of my broken fantasies.