Saturday

Little Tragedies

They happen in lifts,
and on the stairs,
on lonely night shifts
and in crowded fairs.

They are about words unsaid
and smiles not returned,
about egos staid,
and glassy hearts churned.

Little knives, bigger hearts,
beating wild, in fits and starts.
They leave the night brittle,
O! these tragedies little.

8 comments:

pRiyA said...

Sagar, you've been tagged! Check out my blog.

megha punater said...

this poem sounds ferfect for a place like belgium.

Sagar said...

Megha~Why so?

Chandan said...

the lines have stirred something... will make a real comment when I figure it out. Keep churning the good stuff in the mean while....:-)

Sagar said...

Chandan~ Thank You lady. :)

Fingers said...

wow this is amazing!
so many little tragedies.

Chit said...

I like this one better :) Good work

RustyNeurons said...

Hi,
I found this so powerful.
I loved the poem.

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