In throes abysmal,
I wandered like a waif
On the sinister hour, I trode broken and torn,
Desolate and sombre
Mourning and wailing,
Wistfully watching those in mirth,
Beams did me forsake
Gravely, my heart did ache,
Chains of misery tight and cold
I loathed this battle of self ache and inner strife
But bound, I danced upon the blade.
My weary heart seeks relief, from the pains deep and great
In silence under the moon and trees still and calm.
© Namaganda