The weak echo of weeping
Tears midway
And then fighting hard
From it to ever kissing the ground.
Embracing the silence
Thinking of anything just pleasing
Or whatever is imagined
Hoping to be treated better.
The hands are bruised
Blisters on such hands hurt
But as inspired by logic and love
They say that it pays to wait.
But the grip is almost loosening
Waiting hurts
When the difference from today and last week
Is not that evident; same-same.
Witnessing what you want
Happens to almost everyone you know
But never to self
Dramatic against the odds.
Finding ways to combat the blues
Tackling whatever, come what may
But here's in the offing
Cease waiting for life to happen.
