Shamasis Bhattacharya

Relentless drops endure the distance.
Wandering hands probe for an aperture.

Anxious.

Semi-ajar panes shove aside
those desperate to flee the Bubble,
stretching weary arms,
pleading for survival.

Desperate.

Within, there is no life,
no comfort, no peace.
Alone drifts a vast throng,
sweeping through sublime ecstasies,
palpable joys.

Surrounding, countless souls adrift,
divided by an unfathomable closeness.
So close,
yet so apart.

Dethroned.

Each peering through their own gaze,
observing one another
as captive spirits wander past.
Upon each departure, a pang of regret strikes.
Silence breaks—tears emerge.
Fists thump against the glass.
Mourning the elusive,
an enigma the confined cannot decipher.

Helpless.

Every stranger turns into a familiar long gone,
as though someone dearly beloved, profoundly cherished.
Oh, why can’t all exposed
possess something sharp enough to shatter the facade?
If only the Bubble would burst,
liberating everyone
from the shackles of cultivated taboos.

Then, at the very least, all could unite,
in solidarity,
and soar unrestrained beneath the sealed sky,
over the limited horizon.
Where there’s no abyss to plummet,
no summit to ascend.
Beyond the confining earth,
in an endless freefall.

Unveil your soul. Shatter the Bubble.