—
They come inevitably at night,
As if they were part of my sight.
—
They come gasping air breathlessly,
And make me feel awful and silly.
—
They come as storm of devastation,
As if to destroy my dream’s mansion.
—
They come crawling over my skin to heart,
And penetrate deep into my veins and hurt.
—
They come to take away my precious sleep,
They are betrayers, have no promises to keep.
—
They are ruthless, they shatter my peace,
From my zone of comfort, they steal my ease.
—
They enter deep into my scars and scratch,
Make wounds fresh, painful memories they fetch.
—
They are the ghosts of my every unsaid, unexpressed word,
They chase me like a vampire chases warm bodies for blood.
—
They come and stay very long like a shameless guest,
And feed on my peace like some eternal parasite or pest.
—
They are manifestation of my each hair turned gray,
Of the moments when I cry, I regret, I curse, I pray.
—
When I transform these invasive thoughts into words that appear sublime,
As fulcrum it lightens my burden, as an elixir heals my wounds every time.
—
The nights turn sleepy and days turn bright,
When I write, and write, and write, and write!
—
A U A
An Unsung Anthology 