My sorrows are faceless.
Even in a deep slumber, they poke me.
The sky bleeds orange red.
Promise of a new day. But, bleeding. Blood.
Oh no. I just heard a crow.
Will my pain amplify now? Or just the opposite.
Yes, my sorrows are faceless.
They possess a multitude of masks, though.
Oh dear. I’m sorry. They’re calling me. I should go.
I don’t want to. But I don’t want to be broken either.
But…..they’ll break me in any case.
Nevertheless. I’ll try to be back.
– Ishita Gupta
A/N:- This is purely a work of fiction.