Another Night
All I see is bleakness.
All that is left is
The pitch black darkness,
The soft blanket,
The pillow pressed against my cheek,
The humming of the fan,
And another night
to stare at the emptiness,
to soak the pillow with tears...
Trying to be non-chalant,
When all I feel is too much, too deep.
Trying to be care free,
When all I care is about everything but me.
Trying to mend,
When there was nothing broken.
Trying to make it right,
When I don't even know what's wrong.
When all I wish is to crawl back to shell.
Trying to hold on,
When all I wish is to be held.
Trying to cling to the remnants,
When there was nothing to begin with.
Trying to try hard
When all I wish is to give up.
And then again,
All I do is try and try some more...
And now, all that left is tiredness
That tears the tender muscles;
That sucks every ounce of my blood;
That seeps deep into the bone;
That fills the body with ache...
I'm so tired...
Tired of trying,
Tired of trying to try,
Tired of trying not to be tired.
And, I do nothing.
Because, I can't do anything.
How could I?
When the very thing that breaks me,
Still doesn't shatter me;
How could I severe a part,
When that one single part is everything;
How could I end a thing,
When I was not the one to start.
Yet, there is no regret.
How could there be?
If the choices were never mine,
If there was no choice to make.
Also, there is no grief.
How could there be?
When nothing was lost.
Everything was just wishful thinking
That collapsed like house of cards;
That slipped away like sand;
That scattered like dust;
That disappeared into thin air.
And, all I see is bleakness,
Another night
With warmth of the blanket,
With softness of pillow
With lullaby of fan...
-Panchami Kabbinahitlu
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