Oft I get asked why I’m so silent, and
how boring it will be without any words?
Never they know my mind
the infinite thoughts that gets crowded up
The little things used to amuse me
the way rain kisses the earth,
the sun peeping through the clouds and
the waves nibbling the shore.
But with age things altered,
losing the ability to feel,
the things once I loved.
The days turned strange
beautiful sunsets and sunrise shifted to
dreadful weekdays and weekends.
The more I endured, the more I
lost the gift to cherish those moments.
Not sure when I lost all those or how
but all I’m certain is that ,
I’m a matchstick waiting for its quietus.