And once again does the little girl torture her soul with the thousand lashings of agony,
While she dresses herself with smiles and makeup,
Forced into sharing her room with the dreaded sorrow,
Seeing ghosts in everything she does. The horror.
As the girl continues to lock her heart,
She only hears the soft pitter-patter of her teardrops,
Recognizing it as the melodic interpretation of her mind,
Getting that so paradoxical rhythm stuck in her head.
While the anxieties haunt the little girl,
She admits the world around her revolves like abstract art,
Making her wonder in confusion if she even knows who or what she is,
Trying to know how to solve the spiky Rubik’s Cube.
Uncertainty fills her brain to the brim,
Thinking if she has taken the dangerous route in her big journey of self-discovery,
And once again does she remember her signature rhythm,
Flooding the floor with her tears.
Rehan Qamar, Petaling Jaya.