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.

A pause!!

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

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