I have them so messed up,
The mornings come everyday
And the night starts with wars.
I can hear the hymn of pain,
I have the dreams, I can die
for them even. I had a dream
under the clouds, raindrops
falling amidst the utmost silence.
The churchyard seems so
lunatic, when the dreams are
awaken, by the rhythmic bells.
Long pause, afterwards
I find my dreams dead, I was
lying on the tomb of them.
Each of them had Epitaphs
composed by me. Yes, a year
back I was a poet. Dreams of
love, faith, and tranquillity would
have gathered me then but suddenly
A STORM!! Uninvited gestures started
coming up from the core the cold
planet, leaving me into thousand
numbers of Melancholia!!
Dreams, I left them behind, I haven’t
even judged the STORM yet.
Who am I to judge even??
Another morning comes up,
With another tranquil brutality,
I was recalling my dreams then,
Only one thing was left behind,
A dream uncherished, and
A heart so unfixed of mine (may
be). That was half past midnight
with a solemn melancholy!!
I sat beside the window breezes
haunting my head, I was under
a volcanic situation. The counter
seemed more than cold yet it
burned my lips. I was silent for
rest of the time. Only I could
have slept that night, I wouldn’t
have woken up amidst the death toll.
I have made them sequential,
I have buried them
I have written their Epitaphs
too much in details. And the death
toll begins to moan for the
perfect judgement, yet so
crowded. I couldn’t walk even
I couldn’t even see,
What’s going to be written
in thy pages of my Epitaph.
Only I had screamed under
my tomb, seeking for that
“DREAMS” to be fulfilled
even in my absence.
Written by: Uronchondi