In those silent nights of grieves
when you cry,
wiping away those tears with your sleeves
you put your face in that pillow
and your soul becomes hollow
thunderclouds loom menacingly,
You tremble in those sheets of tiny heart breaks
and overwhelming misery

No one is home
and your body feels clingy
all those ghosts you fear
start haunting,
and the tree of admiration by your window
becomes dry.
The branches of anxiety spread over the house
and you barely breathe
shiver in a cold breeze
and the life seems a sanction of eternity

You bleed and bleed
the wound is never healed
the scar gets wider on the sky
of religious filth
where the veins are dried shouting,
that life itself is a religious myth

© ArafArif