He tells a story of blasphemy towards life,

Gathered as relics of scars carved by agony,

Tossing and turning the shiny weapon of,

Destruction between his fragile fingers..

Today is the day he sketches another trophy

On the wall of fame of his blue veined wrists.

He too had his share of sunshine and rain

Then the pain, at times a smile and sparkle to gain, before all the hopes evaporates to vain

Now his days are long lived solar eclipses

Only to be witnessed by tiny pinned hole gaps

Of light, from meshy canopies of shady trees..

It’s a tale of an eclipsed existence.. eclipsed

By ignorance of true compassion…a true love

He used to carry a sweet fountain of affection

That he always bargained with sour deception

Though the world’s endearment is vast like the sea, he tasted always salty insatiable dearness…

On the rainy nights by the window,

He counts the falling raindrops frantically

Comparing it with the count of tears he shed

During his lifetime, a drop versus a drop

Only hoping someday to be even with nature

In his unending misery..it’s his tale of despair..

Like a troubled convict in a cell, or a lost sailor

In shipwreck or a lunatic in a caged asylum

Mark every single day of their survival, before an inevitable end on the hard walls of their existence.

He draws the stigma of his failure ,On his carpal before a final end…to his tale of despair..

He tells a story of blasphemy towards life,

A life full of thorns but the one that also heals,

One that makes deeper wounds shallower .

And sorrows a distant memory with time..

A tale of an eclipsed being ,under the shadowy tree..Where He refugees, waiting to be heard ..