Sometimes I feel a void inside myself,
Emptiness ready to crush me with its nothingness;
And then again I open my eyes—
And the world stares back again.
My frame is a reed, hollow from the inside,
Whole from the outside,
And all I know is that I am matter.
The deafening and resounding silence
Is another matter of concern—
It doesn’t crushes; just makes me devoid
Of all the bliss of Nature’s precious notes;
It is the only sound which surrounds me
In the maddening crowd of the quintessential.
There is the numbness which confounds me:
It has the worst slap of damnation,
Amplifying the teeniest touch,
Pouring life into every cell.
It tosses me amid the tempest in the Ocean,
And leaves me battling the waves alone.
What distances me from my kin?
What is that which I am always seeking?
Life comes and goes, and here I am,
Still at a loss to comprehend the haps.
I just am, will just be; and none would lament
The real me, as it is wrapped in its shadows.
