With an unslaked soul,

pining for a solace or a kind of comfort,

I had a thick bandage wrapping my desires like a foil.

Dragging with heavy chains to get rid of the unrecompensed toils,

still I am climbing the rocky path of my thoughts suffering from the clogged boils

and I’m asking a constant question if I can tolerate more!

With feeble hands, shaking feet and a gray brain whose cortex is wrinkled enough,

I’m approaching death with the same question asked by my old brain with no fluff:

“Can I stand for stupidity and bear more or should I carry the load of chains and only moan?”

Courtesy of Google pictures

From my second collection Out Inside (in press).  Austin Macauley Publishers.