The Accused...

They have often accused me for being too volatile,
They also accused me for being callous,
They called me a man with no remorse,
And they did often tag me with the title; as the one who is the losing cause!

But somewhere, even with all their might,
They failed to make me feel bad,
Or have that sense of getting hurt,
They kept throwing questions at me; one after another,
But to their dismay, my mouth chose to keep mum!

However, with time the little child grew,
And the innosence inside that was caged,
Started to die a slow death.
The one (me), who could not speak or utter a word,
Then chose; to be a poet!

For he knew, his tears had long back dried,
He could drop not even one, even if he ever did try,
The fast pumping heart, asked for help as it could take no more...
But, failed to gain anything for this mistress we call fate; This motherfucking whore!

So,
He started to pen down,
The agony of things and people that left him cornered deep in the dark,
Everyone who once told him 'I love you',
Slowly started to leave a deep cut scar!

There were no reasons that were given,
Nor did he ask for one,
For, he knew he was to go through all of it, come what may,
And even if he pleaded aloud,
The people who would love him forever,
Well, the number would also remain to be 'none.'

His agony scripted the life of all who walked in and out of his life,
The pauses in the rhymes were too heavy to actually rhyme,
though the lack of the word 'wanted', did make some say 'awww'
But then also, a helping hand never came,
Not that he ever saw!

Diaries started to kept piling on,
Blank pages became a shelter of his thoughts,
He started to give them life with ink and pain,
Unfortunately enough, even then he could not get the peace that he so wished to gain!

Missing the lap to lie on,
Or the hand to cuddle along,
His poems became lengthier and lengthier,
Thinking,
How the fuck so much could go wrong?

He soon though could attach himself no more with words too,
They became alien at times and failed to carry him through,
Blind-folded he kept his faith in lord shiva who loved him unconditionally,
He kept coming back, somehow, to his poems crew!

He wrote for years, and wrote millions of words,
He liked people crying when they read,
For him he finally found a way out of darkness and his pain,
And it was through those tears- that his readers were to shed!