Her Warm Heart and Warm Arms

These are tears dropping down my cheeks,
Neither shrieking out of pain this time,
Nor are mere mute spectators,
They are cooling the flames inside,
Yes! The rolling flames of Sorrow!

They are aimless vagabonds tonight onwards,
All the reasons of course dead and entombed,
No wishes, no dreams, no colours anymore,
No definitions of joy and hope,
And black itself a luxury unfathomable!

The dark skies and dull hearts,
Sorrow itself is obsolete,
Where next can my feet reach,
When they have been amputated,
With words sharper than the sharpest knives!

Is it life or lif...
Cant recall the spelling of existence,
Is it the intensity of Death's resistance!
There is nothing more to go numb,
There is nothing more to go mute and dumb.

It is only a wreathing roller coaster of fire,
Touching me, ruining me carefully,
Just burning me at the right moments,
Without standing in the dock for accusation,
Yet, fulfill it's venomous sins!

Have stopped asking when the sun will rise,
Have stopped urging for goodness charm,
Have forgotten what love used to be,
And the cozy sweet home cuckoo alarm...
If I remember it is only and only,
My mother's warm heart and warm arms!