A storm is whirling in my frenzied heart
That my fragile chest can no more hold
Oh! the penurious ink of my dried pen
scrawl my ravings and let them be told
My crime is naught, but I've loved
those eyes than the precious gem and gold
My own scourge is taunting my pride
can my chronicle be ever that much bold
my aimless walk in my wretched world
is an agonizing tale of emotions cold

©Badee Uz Zaman