Silent tears, the one that reek of pain,
The tears, even if hard to control,
Do not show in the name of dignity;
they speak of longing, of unsaid wishes.
The heart clenches in misery,
Cold shivers run down the spine,
Yet, nobody knows, or even, nobody cares.
Trodding on the path of development,
Too busy to talk,
Yet tears find their escape,
As the bruised hands continue,
Continue to feed the wretched souls,
And to make a living out of scars.
Do these souls ever get contended?
Or are they too crippled with greed?
Where is the orphaned civility going?
To the grave I suppose.
So, the silent tears,
Continue to grieve and wail,
For the death of humanity.
But, even so,
Like the cycle of life,
Earth will bloom again;
Reaping anew with a wider face.
Just like the immortal pheonix,
The ashes will beget a beauty again.
No longer are they the tears of pain;
These silent tears, overwhelmed with love,
Will dry and etch into the drops of content…..