There is some inkling on the paper
That sometimes can not resist the water
And washes away.
Perhaps, it has to.
If I cover it with hands
It wont yield
If I let it be in open
It might not heal
But there is always light at the end of the tunnel, if its a day
And only I can see it, nothing is better than faith.
Black be it, the darkness
Dark be it, the sight
Rough be it, the journey
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I can only see it
If I have to.
-knightesS
That sometimes can not resist the water
And washes away.
Perhaps, it has to.
It wont yield
If I let it be in open
It might not heal
And only I can see it, nothing is better than faith.
Dark be it, the sight
Rough be it, the journey
But there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I can only see it
If I have to.
-knightesS
I dive deep into your words, you know like a tiny organism breathing in every alphabet's flavour. The acceptance of eventuality of things and the realization of the choice in your hands are deeply reflected here, I'm jittery reading this. Despite of all the starkness, this gives me something to latch on to. Eternal words "I can only see it, If I have to." This choice of seeing it and or not, I feel surreal reading this. Somethings are etched forever.
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