I
do you think you can sleep?
when you see a girl, a little girl
being bombed in her own house
losing her toys
her beloved brother
wake me up
when the war ends
and the suffering go away
I was told, I am too sensitive
you make it too personal
I don't know how does it feel?
What does it look like exactly?
I plagiarize the thoughts, of people being silent
I listen to their thoughts
and heart,
flooded with heaviness
just like how it is mine, sometimes
or should I say most of the times
I'm sick of news
I am sick of the content media plays
again and again
of the pictures, showing young kids losing their lives
even if that little girl sleep
do you think she'll be able to sleep well?
Or will she dream?
our reflection is not shown in the mirror
like that little girl
I can’t dream
nor can i can sleep well
it is true, indeed


II
tell me, when the war ends
or tell me it has
I don't like prosing
but the grief asked me, to write more
even when I know
it makes no difference, as yet
it only makes me more sad
to see my emotions
floating just like a rhythm
it's been a while since I stopped writing
I stopped writing poems
I write in a language which people don't understand
all they say, 'i am too sensitive'
I need 'therapy', i should have come with 'an instruction pamphlet'
to deal with me
as they say, its not easy being with me
so there it is, they left, just like that
without any explanation, without any consolation
but I can't care more of this
since its difficult

III
truth is harder to tell
every year, there's more to lose
and more to let go.
yet, I write
I am compelled to
even though, nobody wants to hear you out
the anguish inside
crackling inside your bones
some days my heart beats very fast
and I can hear it
even then I stay helpless
at the mercy of the people losing so much of themselves
yet, nobody does anything
including myself
it’s a consolation reward
for being a human
in a world
where sympathy is ‘weakness’
this wasn’t me
this isn’t me, I grew up
more and more compassionate
feeling too much, thinking too much.
I cry as often, as most people
would even think of anything
of all the love, and the care
this static visions and imaginary world
hard to watch, the scars and wounds
with so much broken, wretched life’s
and the lies that establishments make
should I stop trusting people
yet I don’t
and I realize
I’m just so full of *******
since the body, I’m in
feels too much
even I’m not directly involved
I can bury my past and I have
to all the people
who didn’t want me to be in their life
as I quietly left

IV
It takes courage to tremble
and be weak
I left the therapy
and the needing thing
all I understand
how not be in a world of ‘how to be
breaking hearts or law
or the promises
they're all same, equally worse
we have to create our own destiny
its louder than war
or violence
and I know, I will
just like that
with each time I feel my heart sinking
I get motivation
to stand up for all the people who can’t
to be a voice of all the million people who can’t speak
even if I feel far away,
know, I am not gone
I am just tired of the feelings that I feel
and it’s the very thing
you will remember me of
this kindness and genuineness
it will be a symbol of my life
maybe, I will sleep well then
or so does that little girl
spreading love and hope
kind of life we led
and not intending to stay back here
where it just feels too much.