In seclusion and the madding silence of my room,
I care too little about things I couldn't do,
Though the regrets seem ever-following my path,
I care too little about things I shouldn't have done,
There's a room in the house of life,
Where only silence wants to enter,
There's this old diary whose pages
Self narrate their verses to my heart.
And I, like a stranger in my life, wonder
Which page do I want to re-open;
And write a few lines, or rewrite some;
Though I can never erase the line
That tells me how far I have come.
As much as I remember;
When I was a child -
All I wanted was someone
Next to my cold wet pillow at night.
- Syed Rehan
