I'm trying to picture it:
Why was I born?
Why am I misgiving?
Why am I living?
When the ghost of pain dances with me.
I know I am the master of ceremonies of painful nights;
I'm weeping intrinsically.
Why do I smell death?
Mournful butterflies flutter around me.
Pain in the night is burning.
Was I born to have a purposeless life?
Was I born to be tormented by maladies that can't be cured?
Who am I?
I am the tears that drop like rain
So that I can grow out of this pain.
I wonder if my life will ever see happiness.
Again, why was I born?
YOU ARE READING
WHO CURSED YOU IN SILENCE?
PoetryAs I stood at the line of silence, death in my darkest days, a bird sang within me, "Who cursed you in silence?" It was the darkest days I asked myself. How am I going to change blue to purple? This question became the catalyst for my odyssey from s...
