Do not cross the man
With suffering where he stands,
For he is bound to break you
And leave with tears you do not see
Roaring down his pallid cheeks.
Do not accuse the man
Whose smile is never shown,
When all you see is the frown
When he is always down
As the most visible self.
His pain has eclipsed his mind,
To everything left behind.
His eyes have stroked many fields
With glimpses of many dead.
What love he has to commit to, once again!
For another buried?
For another rotting?
The real reason to rot
Is when one feels death
Strangling the throat that still draws breath.
I am not a mountain,
I am a tunnel,
Where much is funneled
To the bowels where I lost my way
In a darkness, in come what may.