The soul cried in agony,
The silence never heard it,
It waited for at least a whisper,
Which was nowhere to be heard.
It thought for a while,
And then screamed loudly,
Blood and feelings,
Both drained out from its heart.
Heart? But did it have a heart?
Where was it?
Why it never realized it was there?
The sorrow, the sadness aroused it.
Made it aware it was a living soul,
Not a dead one...
It wanted to live,
Live for one it loved,
Live for the moments which brought happiness,
But was that to be?
It had already started walking on the path which led to end,
Soon everything which attracted it will vanish,
It won't die but its persona would.
The truth was ruthless.
It somehow killed it.
The soul kept on thinking,
How to convey to everyone,
It was about to leave,
And that it deserved,
What it wished for.
But who was listening to it?
Not a soul, not a whisper,
It craved for someone to talk to,
The silence was tearing it to pieces.
Was it preparing for the end?
Or it has finished and this was the end.
The path which it was walking on,
Did that take it to the end?
Or this was the journey of death?
But then how it can still feel?
How thoughts still came to its mind?
Why pain still brought tears?
Why anger still disturbed it?
Was it dead but living?
Or living but dead?
The dilemma continued...
The soul decided it will live,
Live on its own terms,
Love in its own way,
Tears, smiles, laughter all will come,
But they would on its own.
It will not ask for anything now.
Since it stopped asking for life,
And it never asked for death....