When in my silent mode, I tend to hear myself.
Only that I fail each time I try.
There is this catastrophe inside, this outburst, this
Storm. Too many sounds, too much noise and yet,
too much of Silence.
There is this empty feeling not empty at all,
These pangs, these shivers, these sharp edges
which I fail to bend, that I fail to curve.
Feels like you are projecting continuously, some
Stones on my heart’s wall. Do you know not
How does a mirror feel? When it bears cracks?
Or how does a finger feel when you pierce – ouch
When you pierce forcefully, some thorns?
Or perhaps a chunk of that broken mirror,
How does it feel?
Ask me. Only that I know not
What to answer and how.
You trying to suppress me through commotion and noise?
Trying to muffle me and silence my voice?
Pelting stones at my heart’s wall?
Do you expect, that one day it shall fall?
Listen up! O you the one pelting stones!
The rose too hides beneath; a bunch of thrones
Beware! You who expects my fall
I shall resist and still stand tall…
The one who creates the fear must know
That once beyond a limit those it grow
A volcano of anger does naturally erupt
And perishes the oppressor and the corrupt…
The first part by Randomly Abstract
The second part added by me (Introvert)