sometimes i get mad of this pain
of this insensitive pain,
and wish to scratch off this skin
and prick my flesh with pin,
to feel just
does it hurt more
than the waves of mournings inside my hut?...
i wish to stand straight on peaks high
cut me in pieces u armour of mine,
bit by bit,
tons of tons,
layers in layers,
SIGH!!
is this pain more intensive
than the burning of flames in my little fence...
the soul of mine keeps such a vibraton
that never is tired of such constant screams,
it is young in winters or summers with same gleam,
it laughs aloud at the end of every agony
the pleasure of pain,celebration of a deceased!!
hiramalik
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