Maybe I am an anachronism
stolen out of my time,
living in a world
I don’t understand.
The letters I used to write
now lost in a sea of mails,
the forests where I dwelled
a victim of civilization, they say.
Joy and peace living in harmony,
vanished in the wake of profit-making,
the coos of birds in the winter’s sun
replaced by the inanimate shrill alarms.
Maybe I am an anachronism
stolen out of my time,
living in a world I don’t understand.
This world is bewildering;
this world is man;
return me home where nature’s chaos ran.
- Stuti Singh
Second Year
B.A. Prog (English and Psychology)
[Edited by - Harshita Khaund and Shreya Jathavedan
Art Curated by- Esha Yadav]
Comments