It starts in a cranny of the heart,The Pain,
It courses through the blood and each tiny vein.
Steals into the sinews throbbing and rippling,
Gnawing ,clawing and ripping them apart,thus crippling.
Captured in its costricting grip,its an infinite anguish,
The frame, cold and numb left to grovel and languish.
Oneday that wasted frame dries and shrivels up,
Pain has licked the last drop from Life's brimming Cup.
But it has not been appeased and is certainly not done yet,
To drive in and twist the knife, it is but all set.
To see its victim in agony,writhe and groan,
It breaks into a dance to the music of another moan!
It thrives on their muted sobs and silent sufferings,
It perches itself on its altar,and accepts tears as offerings.
Chandni.
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