Soil in her grave,
Cringed on the fact,
She couldn't find peace,
In her last.
They longed for her,
Vanished pain,
And felt dried of tears,
As it didn't pain.
If only pain was alive,
They might know,
Her soul survives,
With blues that grow.
But no she was gone,
And so was her pain,
So was the tears,
That will never rain.
Only one wish,
May the heaven cry,
So the soil couldn't,
Bind her ashes even if they try.
Let them go,
Far and wide,
Cause a suspicion,
And moments of eyes wide.
May someone dig her out,
And so her story,
And so her pain,
To give back her glory.
"Many people die everyday without telling their story, without getting peace that they deserve. No one gets to know them later and none even tries to find them out. I am not just talking about the real death of life it's also on the note that many of us die everyday. Every day we don't speak out nor someone finds us out. This poem is dedicated to all those out there. May you get your peace."
Also thanks to everyone out there who reads my work and thus motivating me to write something, something which can give me peace.☺
YOU ARE READING
Souvenirs
PoetryEvery person or situation that came in my life has handed me a part of themselves, good or bad, they were like souvenirs for me. They made me feel something and make me go through unique emotions every time. Sometimes I got the same thing twice and...
