Saturday, February 19, 2011


If only ‘PAIN’ had a choice,
To live in a land far away,
Where no traces of hurt and distress,
Would break her broken heart for days.

If only she had an option, to die the moment,
HURT conquered her, she would flow
Like the waves, or blow like a wind,
To a desert, with no one to fall prey.

The reason she took birth,
She still searches day and night,
For no way can she evade the anguish,
The wound burns like a bright light.

Had she been given an option,
She would have thought to kill HURT,
But that too would lead to guilt,
So why not murder yourself?
And save the effort.

Perhaps one day, people for themselves,
Will hate the HURT, the way she did,
And accuse her of her death, so young,
No day she would spend happy as a kid.
The fire the water, would often talk,
With anguish that burned the water,
And poor water, was helpless indeed,
It would flow with no source to cater.

The mother of PAIN, was no mother,
A bearer who herself was filled with pain,
No clear expression of emotions she felt,
PAIN tried being sane in her world so ‘insane’.

The hard truth is that she told me one day,
She continues to live, lamenting each day,
If only she had an option to die,
She would welcome death in her arms, and fly.

Perhaps heavens alone would empathize,
With her sting that hurt, as she would guise,
That day she would be free of the sadness that chained,
As clouds would burst, welcoming the PAIN.

She had told her friends, not to cry,
To shed a tear of loss, or of pity,
She might have been loved, by those who were dear,
But she felt she wasn’t worth,
Of the kindness, love and care.

She ravaged too much in her lifetime,
To be remembered again, would be a crime,
Standing to her name, she was a PAIN,
She caused, she endured, more than her name.

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