I asked the girl with a woeful face, "What is your name?"
"Sorrow, my name is Sorrow," she answered.
"Why is your name Sorrow?" Again, I asked.
"I dunno, but that's the name she'd given me," she said."That's weird, who is she? Who named you Sorrow?"
"She's the one who hides her wretchedness self within me,
The one who felt almost every kind of pain,
The one who thinks lowly of herself, and feels like she's an outcast in everything."I let her continue, I let her speak. I just stared at her.
"She's the one who is rejected by many,
And abandoned by the people she trusted the most,
The one who suffers alone, before I came into the picture.She's the one who's acting tough every day,
But cries in front of me during nighttime.
I barely see her smile, a very peaceful smile,
Because when she's with me, she's always been breaking down.I know everything that is happening to her,
'Cause even though I don't ask her why, she'll tell me very soon.
I just listened, and listened, and listened,
Until she's crying her eyes out again, surrendering from aches.For so many times, she told me she will now give up,
For so many times, I saw her planning to end her life,
For so many times I saw her cursing herself so bad,
For so many times, I just saw her like that, but no help came from me.If only I could obliterate all the negative things she have,
I will do it without hesitations, without any doubt.
But here I am, all I could do is to listen to her rants,
And absorb every little thing, that she will tell me about.And then, one night, she looked at me intently,
She apologized, for everything that she told me.
I become chaotic, what is she talking about?
She said she's sorry, for what I had become."The girl with a woeful face now beamed beautifully,
And then I remembered who was the girl she was talking about.
I remembered the times I talk to myself in the mirror, especially at night,
And yes, I named her Sorrow, 'cause she knows all of my sufferings in life.--
I never thought I'll be able to help myself stand up and rise again.
YOU ARE READING
As To Remember The Old Times
PoetryThese are the products of my own imaginations and experiences, dressed in a poem to hide the pangs within me.