An Outsider Poem by Suryendu Chaudhury

This shabby little room,
An impending sense of gloom,
A crowd of common causes,
With their flickers and pauses,
Gather too much without me,
I look into me and it isn't.

Bent to create one's destruction,
They assemble upon my resurrection,
But where do I feel?
I'm not without zeal,
What I find makes me lost,
At any point it matters not.

Is it a truth I fear to tread?
Am I a fool who fails to fade?
Words flow by the skeletal mass,
They gather upon a craving carcass.
It's beyond me, I look and fail,
They look not for me, I'm none.

If it's over, why it continues?
Haven't I paid back my dues?
Who matters in an empty space?
The untimely end of an untimely race.
I know not how, I still......
It pains, or not, and attempts to kill.