Some Days

I am cold

Not the kind that goes away when you tuck yourself in between sheets,

Or wrap yourself with a thick shawl, 

Not even the warmth of my man's bosom,

Soothes it... 

It comes with frail bones,

Something in your gut 

That burns like hell and 

A sensation in your throat,

That begs you to cry, 

To Let it all out!

I am tired! 

Not the kind that is caused by the stress from work,

Or the kind that goes away when I get to sleep enough.

It comes as heaved sighs,

Sometimes from a heavy chest,

Or an escape from choking, 

As breaths are seized 

From intensely stifled cries... 

Trying to let it all out! 

My Eyes, red and swollen, for days, 

My lids: wrinkled from wiping pools of tears,

Like streams, that won't stop flowing... 

Deep grief, masked for days... 

Days that turn to months, 

Months that turn to years...

I am hungry! 

Not the kind that food heals, 

Or water quenches, 

It gazettes in my belly like an ulcer burn, 

Ushering in its cohorts:

Restlessness, pressure, 

Sometimes, I fear there'd be an explosion... 

But I walk still: looking ahead... 

Like there's a certainty of a prize

That lies there for me... 

I hope still: creating my own light 

Somewhere between this unending tunnel

I wait still: for a final stop;

An end to all my misery...