Looking at my dry hands in winters,
Remind me of someone waiting at home,
She must be lost in her thoughts,
Either laughing at old beautiful memories,
Or remembering the old wounds of her,
There must be worry in her wrinkled forehead,
Her dead eyes might filled with tears,
And may be she'd be blaming people,
For what they've done with her.
Sometimes she seems like a kid with her childlike smile,
Sometimes she is aged enough with those sorrows and experiences,
She with her wrinkled skin,
Often her face speaks of innocence,
With her flowing tears and the way life had been to her.
There're times she said, "I don't want to live anymore',
And I prayed let her wishes come true,
Atleast she doesn't have to go through these brutal blues,
The tortured thoughts of past,
But now it is scaring me,
What if I'd go home,
And I'd find her on her cadaver waiting to go her home.
YOU ARE READING
The Mad People's Dorm
Poetry"Mad People's Dorm" is a heartfelt collection of poetry that takes you deep into the emotions and thoughts of someone battling anxiety, betrayal, and inner turmoil. Each poem is a window into a mind that has faced darkness and is striving to find li...
