To count the countless occasions I've thought of wavering, squandering away,
many a times I've brought myself to the brink of spite and anger,
I've played out scenes in my head- where I'm hurting you, shoving you away,
and to mask my hideousness, have asked, 'are you doing okay?'.
Like the storm winds which came without warning,
To hurt you, is my storm wind.
When the storm has brewed like black coffee, bitter to the bottom,
when it has enveloped my house like the scavenger kites,
and the clouds have blackened the sky like ink blot on paper,
only then I know, it is about to pour.
My foolishness assumed that the umbrella will be a valiant hero,
braving the torrential rain and attempt to walk towards you.
But I forgot; when 'twas a drizzle too little, the umbrella was not used.
It knew not what it meant to protect someone.
I know not how to protect when it rains except;
not let the storm wreck your house (heart).
So let me be, to be destructed by the storm.
Not to be known as self-sacrifice, neither an act of selfless love.
Wouldn't want a glory tale on suffering, or monopoly over pain.
It's the only way I see, of doing good by you.
There are surely better ways, better words, better actions,
I wouldn't know.
I don't know what good will be,
suitable, capable, acceptable to your smile.
There are surely better ways, better words, better actions,
I wouldn't know.
But like the sea waves which receded from the shore,
To leave you, is my sea.
