Forgiveness after the storm

The muse of poetry in its depths stalls the ensue of thee,

Drowning in the sparse spectacle of hope left, one dives into the waters of misery.

Triabilsing in the painful stance of existence, death in its allure creeps behind,

To be or not be in the bane of tormenting breaths, in their truth one seems to find,

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The hostility that binds, convulsion in its gloating flair laughs hysterically at the corpse of being,

Dreariness to live in its slow burn writhes the only ounce of light left to see.

The void of embracing the freshness of unadulterated air forges to question the beauty,

Of living a life that could lead in the lightness of radiance and the smiles of unbridled glee.

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The trueness of being lapses in the oscillation of turbulence and the sea of calm,

Yet the tides of uncertain syllables that breed animosity render the soul unarmed.

Inflictions that rend the hope one harbors, cease the seed of survival that lies,

Some storms make you dance in the rain and while others make you unalive.

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Forgiveness after the storm is the rite of passage of being and demise,

The gospel truth of churning the honesty amid the wreath of lies,

Mortality is a voyage, a quest to sail in the waters of uncertainty to reach the shore,

In the aftermath, the essence of your existence lies in your tolerance to endure.

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The array of your destiny after bracing the storm lies in your hands,

To mellow to the plight of suffering or to metamorphosize in the preservation of thee

In the discourse of your choice, the veracity of your being will stand.

-Hridya Sharma