Tiered of Tornadoes

Dark morbid aspects of life don’t inspire me,

But they numb my senses.

Lost in the world of begotten -

Often, I wreck in unimaginable darkness;

My sky is grey and dark,

And the weather always is whirling cyclone.

Lost count of days and nights,

As I am enc(g)aged both physically and mentally,

To the extent of extinction of emotions.

My memory slot skips multiple months or years,

As I am tied up in the tornadoes of responsibility!

When the cyclone gets over,

I might be wrinkled physically,

But young and supple emotionally;

All the souls who help me feel joy and peace

Won’t be around me anymore -

Alone I will stand pining,

on the few countable moments,

Still shining in my memory slot!

With the hope - One fine day,

Beyond time, space, and physical shape,

At least after removing this wrinkled mortal wear,

I might sit on cozy comfy cushion

And drink a warm aromatic cup of coffee

With people who give moments to cherish...