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I have known much sorrows
And anxiety knows my biography
I plop myself, heavily, on this sofa
And take a tour
Pensively through the memory lane
Fate, where lies thy magic wand?
Fate has planted weeds of emotions
To overgrow my memory
And hordes of pain graze on it
In no nomadic nature.
They have pitched tents.
Everyday, I stroll, solitarily
And mindlessly on this lane
I am nothing again
But my remains
Whatever was left of me.
Suddenly, on this littered memory
Clutterd by sorrows
I ran into it.
I saw where the wand had lain.
Pent-up and lonely in this pen
My anxiety and sorrows
I convert to ink
Flowing on this white island called paper.