You used to read me,
Like you know my lines by heart.
Now you don't even reckon,
The language I am written.
Now you make me cry,
And you don't stay to wipe the tears.
You believe an 'it's OK',
But how can I be?
Ask yourself, Is it really because you believe?
Or is it just that you don't care?
When will you understand,
The trap where I stand.
Where I wish you read me:
I forgot to speak!
My thoughts can't make a voice,
It may sound vile to you:
But read it and you'll know,
The pain you put me through.
Now I speak to you,
I try to aver the love and pain.
All you understand is a broken phase,
Palaver of a lassie, dazed!
And then you find me lousy, Plead is all I do,
Fathom the will of the words, and not the words therein!
Maybe, it will remain a reverie,
You decoding the cryptic code for me.
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Quote:
"There is no fire like lust, no vice like hatred, no trap like delusion and no river like craving"-Thich Nhat Hanh.
Written for a 'he' in hope he would address it someday.
~Chaahat
YOU ARE READING
Khamoshiyaan
PoetryTHE VOICE OF SILENCE. Sometimes silence describes a situation far better than words ever will, Sometimes a strange set of words describe paints it years later; The limits are set and broken by the words , The reticence ,muteness and reserve let out...
