The more tightly I hold the rope,
The more longer it stayed in my hands...
But then the more I bleed...
Each time the wound was little more deep...
The rope finally escaped my hold,
Blaming me it was me who couldn't keep...
All I did was to weep weep and weep...
Now since there was nothing in my hands,
My wounds started to heal...
But never did I let it to...
All the drying scars again I peel,
Silently again letting it bleed...
The pain of holding,
Everyday I feel...
I did let go of the dearest rope...
But didn't let go the feel...
This time,
If I get to hold it again,
I will again hold it tightly...
It will leave again probably,
But I won't reduce my efforts to keep...

© shweta_banerjee