Burnt Paper, Burn Soul // Minahil Naghman

Roses

White roses surround him

In bouquets and on the pillars

White, as they mourn for their death

Black

Dresses and shoes and suits

Grief in every atom of air

Sorrow in space enfolded

Wet faces

As tears they tumble down

Making their path below

Weeping in grief as the teardrops fall

Remorse

Filling the air besieged

Painting it with its tang

Humming its tune of regret

Shadows

They line the walls

In endless circles begin  

And circle his eyes within

Blank

His face now losing

Sanity is caving in

And ending concord that once was

Silent

Cries muffled around

And apologies shower

But only stillness can be seen

Who do you think you are?

Saying you know my misery

The torment I have gone through

The sheer agony I have faced

Tell me, has your heart been broken

Has it been rubbed raw?

By the heartbreak that I bear

And the torture I have suffered

Has your heart bled

By a thousand paper cuts at once

Have you sunk in your own blood?

And then woken up to face it again

Have you faced anguish and agony?

Have you drunk the misery and distress?

 Have you had to swim in your failures

Then start all over again

Tell me, do you also drown in the silence

Waiting for the cover to fall

Do you also crumple inside?

Like a burnt paper, a burnt soul

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