My eyes may illuminate the rays of felicity, but behind it lies an opaque image of affliction.
Sometimes the words like themselves,
To get entangled into the intricate
Threads of angst honing,
The lines in the blank pages
To mitigate the soul wandering inside.
The ink stains of agony which crumpled
From the monotonous routine
Ruptured the walls of reality,
To open the gates of truth and passion,
Enabling the fingers to chase,
The ultimate weapon to sway across,
The literary ends carrying the burden,
To yield the darndest peace and harmony to oneself !