Touch not the scar lazing on the wound,
lest you should wake the world inside,
Damned be the healer-Time,its was found,
sought guidance from its maker,aside!
What of the promise,as years gather dust,
that pain,aged and frail,will be vanquished,they must!
Yet,like gathering storm thou befell,
bartering evenings of solitude for reminiscent hell.
I am afraid to introspect,
for am afraid of shivering to life,
further demons whom I slayed,
just to live in soliloquay,within this life I played.
Yet,freedom from mortality,cannot be bought cheap,
it must be traded for a sentence,a price so dear,
before we all leave for his ark we must keep
such quiet evenings and bid farewell to all our fears.
(Inspired by the poet Usha's 'Extant')
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