I hid my pain rotting within,
I feared it's suffocating stench.
I wanted your wounds to heal
Just as I hoped mine to fade .
You fell for your wounds and I fell for your pain.
After all, I have always been true to pain.
With every breath under the sky, I have died by bits,
And I am dying continuously without any fail.
I was born with a curse which refuses to leave my skin,
My skin, well it hides well!
My inner world is scattered in bits, but do I give up?, I ask myself.
Where do I run to , if running away could cure me of my curse!
But I was not born to run out of it, I was born to live with it.
I stand transfixed, gazing at the far horizon
And with the last bit of sunrays on my hair
And the wind on my skin
I dream and I keep on dreaming!
My dreamscape is all that I have for myself.
"Read between the lines", I heard our professor say. We were in midst of a Victorian text. I looked at her point blank. She had spoken about something which I had no clue about. "Ma'am, would you please elaborate? ", I tried framing this sentence in my mind but my introverted self overpowered my inquisitive soul like everytime. I hopelessly waited for an explanation. Ma'am started explaining about how beyond the surface meaning of any written text, there lay a wide plethora of meaning which wasn't explicitly stated. She talked about finding a void between the written words and our imagination, that void which shapes our interpretation. That explanation opened doors to my perception of reading a text. It wasn't that I had never considered about the possibilities of meanings that lay coated in words until then, but, what perhaps I lacked was to look for that void where I questioned the layers of meaning, where I put myself in those layers of wo...
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