Besmearing a myriad muses,
An abstruse matrix overlays.
Grief pleads to abreact-
Sometimes through my diary,
Sometimes through my canvas;
Murky shades elude.
But when pain overpowers-
Pen turns futile
And brush becomes dry.
The inner strife becomes unendurable.
Then, volcano erupts with all its fury,
Bloody tears ooze out like lava;
I helplessly lament,
Yet,
The abyss remains unfilled.
[^x^]
Right now, I've lost my rhythm. I have lost my existence. I have lost me. Someday day something would fill this bareness, this painful void, this dark abyss. That would be the day when my life revives. My life would get back its lost meaning, its lost rhythm that day.
I will come alive.
©copyrights reserved
Pr@GnY@
09/02/09
About Me
- Pragnya
- New Delhi, India
- Average, Simple n seemingly Uninteresting... yes, thats all 'bout being Pragnya.
8 comments:
Hang on. It won't be too long before you get back to your music.
But when pain overpowers-
Pen turns futile
And brush becomes dry.
simply superb!
When you hit rock bottom, the only way is up- well, that's not my line, I read it somewhere...but it makes a lot of sense... :)
U r an awesome writer... and am sure u will win over the pain and strike back.
Make your own rhythm; find fulfillment in the abyss; create your own waves; create your own music
madam ne likhna chhor diya ???
its beautiful :)
i lyk d fact dat it ends on a positive note :)
thankie :)
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