What Does One Do?

What does one do when nothing he feels can find words?

When the agony and pain are filled up and find no outlet?

The sheer helplessness of not finding the right words, the right people, the circumstances!

What does one do? Where does one go to scream? How does one let out all this pain? This emotion? This helplessness?

What does one do?


Colours, flowers, green meadows
All seemed alien, so remote
Visible through the small window
a life so variable
Here life was dim, streets gloomy
There sun seemed to shine so brightly
Here moments were so restricted
There things flowed so gloriously
There sun shone impartially
Here even dark imparted partiality.