It happened that my mind was very inundated with gloomy thoughts during in the evening of the 25th of February. I just realized that my poetic mind is more active during sorrowful moments.
I couldn't sleep. I couldn't sleep with a soul injured by emotional shortcomings. This brief poem was written before I prayed to God and released all my burdensome thoughts.
Eyes on the ceiling, hands beneath my head,
Thinking of things while lying on the bed.
Sleep won't relieve this thing called pain.
Feigning the ache can just be counted vain.
Slumber is that way too wildly untamable
When tears are getting out of my control.
Just like a poor, fallen and shattered glass,
My heart is broken with the wounds it has.
