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Om

On the floor of the office room, on
that carpet — there is peace, there is
silence. Over on the fence, beyond that
on the sunlit carpet of mountain green
grass — in the music of Indian flute, on the
tune of romantic nonexistence — there
is peace, there is silence.

There is silence, and peace, over
into the heart of the brick field, too; the
bricks are made of smaller bricks, but they
stay intact. With these bricks, you
can raise a wall, a house.
You can lay the foundations
of a shop, of a high-rise.
It all depends on the capacity and quality
of your imagination. The more the reach, the
better the making.

But the bricks have a weak point: on the note
of music, they break, into smaller bricks; then
the smaller bricks also break into smaller
and more smaller bricks — this goes on
until you witness your own head into the infinity
mirror~hall frame
of the last scene of Citizen Kane . . .
This goes on for infinity.

OM
Om is the word, with which the
music~room is made, where I stay
in the winters; in the summer, I go
away to Florida.

Comments

Tanmoy Acharya 100 (author) on February 06, 2021:

Thank you, everyone.

Ravi Rajan from Mumbai on February 06, 2021:

Very interesting and well written Tanmoy.Gives a lot of food for thought.

John Hansen from Queensland Australia on February 06, 2021:

It didn’t take you long to start writing “interesting” poetry again, Tanmoy..lol. Very well written. With the influx of new “writers” here it is good to have one who can actually write.

BRENDA ARLEDGE from Washington Court House on February 06, 2021:

Interesting...to see the bricks of life in front of you

Tanmoy Acharya 100 (author) on February 06, 2021:

Thank you!

manatita44 from london on February 06, 2021:

A 'sweet' piece!

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