Deep, deep well

(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.

Leave a comment


  1. It is nearly impossible for me, whose life has been transformed by Jesus, to read your poem through lenses other than ones of my faith. When I read “black/blackness”…I think of the state of my heart before I gave it to Jesus…there are parts of the Bible that speak of our bones wasting away, of writhing pain, when we keep ourselves away from God and his grace and love. The things that keep us from God can certainly be “intoxicating”, as you put it–appealing and luring to our senses, yet not giving us satisfaction or even health. I’ll have to think on this more!

  2. Creative thoughts! Meaningful.

  3. how do i follow your blog??.. this space is interesting!


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