The Dissonance

The chorus of discursive fragments pause little longer than expected

Their unabashed lingering does not yield any powerful discourse

Sifting among the strewn frustrate the eagerly seeking hands

Only a handful of dust and crusts of incoherent meanings

As if under a mysterious spell, the wayward wandering, fondness for veering off

Yelling at the day won’t upset it, but the mind will feel agitated

At the brink of some unknown territory after a journey of unmindfulness

The voices of those fragments now cohesively sound like white noise

Shrapnels of instructions maniacally unfreedom the choices of life

Battling with the air and Earth is the unnatural nature of distinct turmoil

The chorus grows bigger than the scope of plotting the escape

~Amitav