Saturday, 5 June 2010

a minor melody

she felt the urge to write again
its been so long though, she thinks
that she has lost touch
with writing
with word play
with her own thoughts
these daily chores
the work
people around
the changing weathers
everything puts her off easily these days,
just anything
the only place to her rescue
is her own home
not even those friends whom she thought once
would help her escape this pain
realising soon that she had already
filled her bucket of gratitude
for them. in more than just one way
the only sanity that can be granted
now is by being insane
it knows, yet it wanders
it wants to be cold, yet it misses the warmth
it’s a very simple math, but
it’s the paradox of emotions she gets stuck in
there are no greys, no whites either
it's this perpetual state of mind
which makes everything around a mere illusion now
she feels terribly disappointment
with her self

not for anything else, but
for losing touch with herself