The inner voice

I want to sing and dance
Paint a picture of thousand towns

But I can’t seem to lift the pen
To draw a picture of a tent

It makes me sad and blue
To know that I’ve lost my clue

I pretend not to worry
And to wake up tomorrow and say sorry

To whom and for what
I didn’t know but it was a call from my soul

No one argues or reasons out
When the orders are from another town

This the town where your dairy is maintained
It has all the details of what you’ve painted and tainted

I was a fool to think otherwise
That everything I do is buried with time



© Trina Sarkar-Mohapatra, All rights reserved