On the lonely pages of memories,
I write with the ink of passing time...
As each page flips revealing more chapters,
That are yet to be completed.


The glitters of each tear, stained on many pages,
Portraying the images and scenes,
And telling the stories that were hidden & left untold,
As the pen bleeds upon the pages.


The inks are painted and can never be wiped,
As the words flow like the tears,
Each stroke relays the emotions,
Like a grief on parade.


But when the tears are gone the ink remains,
To tell the story of the miseries of man,
The sorrow kept within for years,
The abyss entangled in the hole of hell.


The obstacles and hardships in the den of tears,
The pains and mysteries in the dungeon of the night,
Which at last were all overcome,
But left unspoken of.


The paper painted a crimson hue,
A color filled with pain and pride,
The pages clogged with colorful tales,
A tale of mixed emotions deep and intricate.


The ink flows, an oasis wide,
Like a garden grown in a deserted land,
It continues to tell a story true,
Of both love, loss, joy, and sadness.


It tells of dreams, tears, and pride,
Of all that's been and all that's gone,
The bounty achieved and all the
chances lost,
Of failure and success, of mysteries and answers.


For the mysteries behind each tale,
Can be found and solved,
if you learn to read on and turn the pages,
You will surely find the answers.


Now the pen has stopped and the words ceased,
The paper is thrown in silence again,
The story told yet remained untold,
A tale withheld yet released...

© hujjah