Friday, 20 June 2014


Every time
You turn your face away from me,
A thousand needles
Prick my heart without any mercy;
I shield my agony
With a smile of resilience
Conceal my eyes 
With dark colored glasses;
I let my pen
Scribble my scars on the paper,
My tears remain transient
My bruises turn immortal.

Every time
You insist to see my notebook,
A humble plea
Escape my lips;
I have secluded my scars
Amidst the riddles and metaphors,
My tears have desiccated
In the breast of those words;
I hesitate, you insist
The paper gets mangled,
I laugh as you glare
My scars celebrate my triumph.

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