(Written by my friend Saswata Roy while sitting in the class.)
Deep, deep well
Black, I sit alone looking above.
What else can I do?
Fetid water gurgling at my feet
Afraid I would dirty them
Dissolve them to bones and ash.
Deep, deep wells
Black,as black hole.
Pulling me, and I went.
What else could I do?
Your perfume is intoxicating.
Will I ever rise again?
Perhaps there is a desire to rise.
There is a hatred, a loath in my being.
Where am I? What am I doing?
However, it is comfortable here.
Withering skin and bone have pain
It’s sad, but I have learnt to numb them.