A MIRACLE IN DISGUISE

A rebellious voice

You're not allowed to see me cry.You're not allowed to touch my scars,and sense the fear in my eyes.Or feel my inside world fall and die.You're not allowed to witness my weakness, or watch me drown in total emptiness.For I no longer hold on to brightness,or have the slightest desire of greatness.You're not allowed to fill my gaps,or look inside my mind when I collapse.You're not allowed to uncover my demons,or hunt them down with your weapons.

The voice of my soul
For it is what made me survive.The hell I've been living in for a while.

You're not allowed to address my soul,for it's still pure and safe of wrong, for it is still loving you.
You're not allowed to wander in my holly garden,for all it has are faded flowers that won't blossom crushed by the winds of regret and boredom,drowned by all the tears that keep submerging.All of my little hopes and secret wishes of dying-With a smile on my cold, pale face, and a petal of hope to conclude my race against depression, against falling Into the infinite well of denial.You're not allowed to hear me praying.You're not allowed to see the hidden me.For all I am is a lost memory.

I wanted to give you the sun and the moons and the stars, If you promised to listen to the shouts of my deep scars,My hidden tears as they drop on my burning soul, and my falling worlds as they break down in my mind.I wanted to be your light, your savior from the wicked dark,Your fighter, your warrior, your lifeline.

Now we don't have anything common. Your life is yours. My life is mine. We are nobody to interfere. Maybe this was what god wanted, he must have thought anything better. They say you don't deserve me; just to console my broken heart. But deep inside they know it even, that we were not meant for each other."It was just a phase of time. Forget it." They say. But they never tell how to forget you.

Listening to the rebellious voice of a aching heart, I feel I shouldn't let it bleed anymore. I should let it heal. Let it recover. Let it feel the warmth around. Let it feel the compassion. Let it be free.By no other means, but, by actually forgetting. This silence needs to be broken. The voice needs to be staged.
Till what long shall a bird be caged? Now it needs to fly .I'm kept a hostage, in my mind's prison, tied to a thousand thoughts and worry, my legs are chained to a heavy bed where the sheets are covering and my knees are weary. Not breathing, unable to see light, unable to feel my toes, my blood is freezing, and so is my heart. If I set free the caged bird I'll learn how to fly. I was born with wings. Why prefer to crawl?
.
.
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I will fly.
(Listening to rebellious voice of my aching heart)