All alone sitting on the edge of my bed
My hands covering my face
A moment when I silently pray to be invisible
Moment when I feel like crying...
Not many, but yes there are few such moments
Appearing in front of me as ghosts of the past
Memories well hidden far away from the sound mind
Still sometimes I see them come
And conquer my thoughts,
Memories I long to cast away
Nibble my mind all day…
Slowly the toughness gives way
And tears flow unbounded
Reflection of a soul badly wounded…
I cry, I cry to myself
In the sole solace of my own palms
I know one thing for sure,
No one ever would be able to trespass
And my ugly secret would be buried in the lines of my palms.
The secret of the moments
When I feel like crying.
I wipe my tears and shed my fears
For the moment has finally walked away
All wet and painful, it is gone.
(c) Arti Honrao (from the file)