Writing Melancholy

When the ferocity of pain

pierces the bounds of reason,

gushing in to the realms

of my mind,

and floods the corridors

of my heart;

when it rises up the levels

of strangulating heights

and just when I’m about

to drown in its tides,

I hold on to my pen

which inks the excessive

water, shaping it

to words and phrases.

Thus I’m unburdened

but the brazen words

never cease to invoke

sympathy, as though

the pain was maltreated.

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The heart craves while the mind’s dead

The memory lane of my mind,

with all the extensions to eternity,

is blocked by a variety of reasons

and the gloom rules in its entirety.

Caught in the abyss, I grope for a clue

which could lead me at least to a glimpse;

a slightest of your smiles that you so lavishly

gave, or any of your tears; the little jewels

that I used to collect in my palm.

My woes it seems are willfully increased

by a contemptuous Fate, when it decided

to leave my heart untamed.