For how long
Will these memories
Heavy with profound melancholy
Cloud my thoughts in a twilight shade
And blur my vision
With puddles of perpetual monsoon rain
How long
Should I wait
For the hands of time
To caress and heal my seared skin
Peel off its dense layers
Scarred and stinging
with fathomless anguish
Of premature losses
Repressed resentments
Maturating like wine
Cause a diminutive hole inside
Has gradually become cavernous
Filled with a darkest void
In it echoes my voiceless cries
Resonating with an intensity
That renders me senseless
Paralysis me to an extent
That my reception and comprehension
For any invigorating and uplifting stimulus
Becomes remarkably impotent
And I can read
Heartless written in their eyes
Which hurts
More than I can write