By Arumai Jain
The sky,
a crushing weight upon my spine,
each cloud a stone, a torturous design.
Each star,
a needle, tracing every line
of pain, that pulses, eternally mine.
My arms,
are anchors, holding what I bear,
a groaning world, suspended in thin air.
My hair, now streaked with grey,
a silent testament to eons, endlessly unspent.
No rest,
just endless press, a silent groan,
a universe of suffering, all my own.
The sun,
it rises, but it brings no ease,
just burning weight upon my straining knees.
The night,
just deeper aches upon my knees,
a cold embrace, that offers no release.
To stand,
a pillar, against a broken will,
my spirit cracking, yet I'm standing still.
To feel,
the universe, forever still
upon me, a silent scream, against my will.
This gift,
a curse, forever sharp and keen,
a cosmic burden, endlessly obscene.