Sometimes everyone turns deaf to hear the thunder arising from my heart.
It seems everyone is blind to see
the flood in my eyes.
I find no hand trying to control that flood.
I trace no footprints coming for my rescue.
The entire world becomes handicapped to comprehend my plight.
At that moment I feel an eye gazing at me from the corner of my bookshelf. My diary
My pen flows ink as if it has been the patient listener to the thunder of my heart since long.
I locate the metaphors of positivity busy in making bunds to manage the flood in my eyes.
I notice a poetry rushing
to escape me from the calamity of my mind
to show me the sunshine of delight.
And I perceive the true essence of pen and paper.