In the old
house on the hill
Lives a
family of three
Surrounded
by white walls
They live in
joyous ecstasy
Outside the
world spins on its axis
And little
children spin
On multicoloured
merry-go-rounds
But this
life is not for the people
Surrounded
by white walls
They seek
asylum
In the featureless walls
surrounding them
Not for them
is the world outside
They’re lost
in worlds of their own making
Where there
is no pain
And no one
laughs at them
For being
different
Their worlds
are free from sadness
And they
derive happiness from them
I too have a
white walled room in my head
Where I
wait, while around me
The world
spins madly on
The Bilge Master
This is one of your best so far. Your writing has developed. Kudos, Mitra!
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