Sunday, August 28, 2016

Prisoner

It is not the kind of pain you feel when you get cut, burnt or bruised,
It is a rock solid wall all around you that traps you in,
It is so real, you are convinced you can touch it,
More so painful because it is difficult to prove,
You shout, hit, collide and weep against the wall,
But it doesn’t budge,
You are a prisoner of your own thoughts.

Memories haunt you like ghosts,
Mirage of water in an endless desert,
They cannot quench, only leave you yearning for more,
Your past does not exist; you do not see a future,
And there is no ‘now’ in this bare cell of yours,
A prison of rock solid walls,
Made of your thoughts.

People say it is nothing,
Just a wall of thoughts,
It is all in your head,
I try to believe them,
I walk out of my solitary prison,
Into the dark tunnels of doubt,
Inching through the long passage,
At the first turn, several daggers of ‘What-ifs’ come flying at me,
I can’t bear the onslaught,
I run down the dark tunnel,
Back to my solitude,
A prison with high rock walls,

Made of my thoughts.

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