This book called life….
Over years, gone and yet to come,
What I was and what I’ve become,
I wonder where the humour disappeared,
Jokes get cracked, I laugh, andI step out,
A ‘me’ from outside,
Deceptively happy,
One to smile, one to live and love,
Inside a tornado, a boiler, burns up,
Ready to smear one with cold burnt ashes,
Questions bother, lacerate this being,
Even screaming topped with tears,
Sighs and quietens,
For the doing seems all unnecessary.
At times one wonders,
If all could be absorbed, without
A word spoken or exchanged,
These words, tragic, yet sweet,
Come and go, smoothening the pain,
Not that the moments are blissful,
In some ways, they seem in- sane,
Yet when you question your existence,
The path you walk, all seemingly in vain.
PS: a bloggy friend wanted a happy post.. Perhaps this is all I can barely speak.
PPS: Sorry to all the beautiful Vanilla people eagerly waiting for me to post, or even to drop by at their gorgeous blogs, but some things are inexplicable. Hope you understand. Thank u.
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