In the shadows of my life, I am Shweta,
Keeper of joy for others, but not for me.
I've woven smiles for every soul I meet,
Yet my own heart remains a barren sea.

I learned to silence my tears, deemed weak,
Strength forged in a facade of stoic grace.
But beneath this mask, a tempest stirs deep,
Unshed sorrows carve lines upon my face.

Time crawls on, a cruel and indifferent thief,
Mocking wounds that refuse to find reprieve.
Hope flickers faint in my relentless night,
As bad days stretch, refusing to take their leave.

I am adrift, a soul without a tether,
Incomplete in every bond I dare to weave.
In the labyrinth of my own existence,
Lost, I wander, seeking reprieve.

Who am I in this fractured reflection,
A shadow dancing in perpetual dark?
Falling, rising, in this lonely procession,
Searching for a light, a guiding spark.

But the pain I carry, an unyielding weight,
Anchors me to this desolate shore.
No healing hand, no solace found,
In this abyss where I am lost evermore.