I watched how you skulked along the gallery
Of my house, on a dreamless night,
With something in your hands wrapped in jet black,
Just the way your existence is.
How was I supposed to know that you,
You would disrupt my stream of serenity,
Or splinter the ground which swabs all walls,
All walls of fiendish activities.
You perforated my work of art
That carried the countless, fragile pieces of
What beats inside me, that still lives and drums,
But remained oblivious to your profound reality.
You hooked my chest to drag me away,
And drag more lives away, to forcefully sleep
On beds made of thistles, just to hear us shriek
And maybe surrender to your realm of affliction.
Nonetheless I crawled out, and every night
I reach the brink where the line of woe
Seems to vanish and venture a trip to help me return…
Still, you wrench me back to euthanize my hope.