There she was struggling
with how to comfort her heart,
which has been stabbed many times
both from front and back,
but instead of blood gushing,
it was sadness she was soaked with
and depression trying to strangle her
with its gloomy hands,
and there was she, alone, struggling to heal that wound.
Struggling to fill that void.
There she was fighting,
for her emotions that
can anytime submerge in
ocean of sorrow,
to be able to give slight
tinge of glee to her soul which
was slowly forgetting
the feeling of happiness.
And she finally found the answer.
The precise way to fight back and to win.
She got her solution
in a pen and an empty paper
which were waiting patiently,
to be touched by her obscurity
waiting for her to bleed her depression out
to repaint her soul, not with just joy
but with self satisfaction and comfort
which were ceased from her heart.
So, she wrote her gloom down,
scribbled about the glee she longed,
scrawled about how a pen made her believe
that, we are the author of our life and
we can change it anytime we want
and these verses are the proof.