Melancholy, like leeches, with no fuss, stings,
Worthlessness, like black ghost bats, in my heart, spreads wings;
Sadness, helplessness, hopelessness loom in a chain,
Like termites venturing amidst torrents of rain;
Like summer-flu drenches physical energy,
Psyche gets sucked off losing inner synergy…

I forget to eat and struggle to get deep sleep,
As though lying on venomous scorpion heap;
Involuntary movements in my hands and mind,
Indicating restlessness in the brain behind;
Feelings of death, suicide, and wanting to cry,
Settle in and sting like treacherous Tsetse fly…

Why do I feel as though fallen in nothingness?
Why does this well of void call me with willingness?
Why, like Shakespearean plays, do witches appear?
Why dead heads of murderers my skull smash and smear?
Why do graves and coffins like processions enter?
Why does the whole nature to be pure pain render?

To saints and angels fully folded hands I pray,
Like nuns and monks, hearty charity I display;
When will the sun of happiness show shiny sway?
When will this fog of pain in my heart fly away?
Will my world turn again a rhythmic Milky Way?
Will peace like very spouse forever come to stay?