CC0/Public Domain.
A rhyme he wrote again,
My writer friend, Mr. “Insane”
He wrote lines random, made no sense,
Just to express his thoughts, a random pretense
He wanted to express thoughts too many,
Tried talking to ‘friends’: heard him none, if any…
His thoughts weren’t all grim, some were positive too,
He sought resurrection, made failed attempts few…
He was a writer too grim, yet had some hope left,
In the darkness that loomed, the thought of light wasn’t bereft
He too hoped for a way, to set things right,
He too imagined a dawn, that will sweep away his dark night
Someday, sometime…on a different day, a different year,
His troubles will seem a matter of the past, he will have no fear
He will find love, he will find peace, he will find his life
Which seems lost now, he will grow out of this strife
The writer may be grim, but his heart is true
He may be abandoned by people, his friends few
Still he survives, struggles, and will live on…
Reshaping his fate, his destiny, setting right every wrong
Someday, sometime, on a different day, a different year,
His troubles will seem a matter of past, he will have no fear
He will be loved, and not hated, the way he feels now
His troubled thoughts, his emotions, he will outgrow somehow.
Visit Pratik’s website for more musings, at pratik1357.wordpress.com.
