The sands of wistfulness
When the closebys are nebulous
The distant a figment of
The fatalist imbeciles.
The granules slip away
From my nonconformist grasp
Tearing me up as they go go
With eyes dying to cry.
Helplessness is, as helplessness was
A shrieking heart of despair
An angry mind of iconoclasm
Fast drying up as wistfully.
I will corrode, I will fade away
I will die, I will cry
I will kill myself, but not kill
The being of mine, that make me.

Operation Blackout: Keeping Kashmir out of the news
The silent Bangladeshi invasion of Assam