Monday, 26 September 2016


These walls of my room
Had been very gracious to me
For they have witnessed all
Almost every breakdown of mine
Times, ripples touch the floor
Times, they stood as a support
Times, I lay unspoken unheard
I talk to them and they talk back
We keep staring each other.  .  .
These walls resemble My heart
Nothing goes out tumults comes in
Making me restless, want to burst
All at once, for now, I fear of an outbreak.
Times I tried, I tried!
I myself was the culprit for
Torturing my own humble soul.
 These walls have been  generous
Times I lay down with torment
despair, fear, pain. When
Nerves are tired and tampered
I stare them, they stare me back
With such closeness we spend
Many insomniac nights
Many dark sunny days
Rains and thunders
Everything . . .
Ripples on floor
These walls always embrace
my tortured, scattered soul.
These walls are at least mine
I own something in this cruel world
So what if they are some painted walls!

Asna Azhar

No comments:

Post a Comment