Words…

Words too hate me sometimes
I think many a times,
Silently they manage to slither
Away in corner,
And hide there
For hours together,
Peep through the
Holes too small,
And stealthily whisper about
My despair.
Far stretched in the memory
When the distant shadows
Begin to hurt like arrows,
And the white of the paper
Shines its emptiness with glory,
The hands tremble and
Drops the pen in fear,
Spills the ink on ground
And spoils the linen with tears.
The words watch the show
And rejoice the victory
With grace,
Even begin to retreat
To the foreign land with a
Promise not to return to the base.
Cautiously they walk away
In darkness,
Deciding not to leave
The footprints behind,
And warily eat away the hustle
That breaks the softness so kind.
They have gone too far
And hidden somewhere in the
Lonely woods,
So begins the endless search
For the friends of the lonesome nights
And the desperate moods.
In time,
The mind would wither
Away the blazing sense
And the heart would tear apart
The emotions so tense.
The murky night longs for the
Golden bowl,
Like a shriveling body quivers for the
Lost soul.
The hope lingers that the
Time would come
Coz’
The poem still needs an end,
Coz’
The poem still needs an end…