Melancholy II

As I sing of melancholy
No longer sad in its tone,
I lend my ears to what surrounds
Ah! Sweet silence, sweet recluse!
Surely the gift of peace at hand
I sing the epoch of my own self
I sing the era of my own being
Atlas! I am myself – happy and content
Beneath this wholesome void
Lies the tranquil solitude I seek,
And there I sit and sing
A sweet melancholy song.

Melancholy

Birds of a feather
I have none like mine,
I perch alone in destitute
The sad abandoned tree,
In whose branch I sit
And sing myself a tune.
Time walks ahead
I drag myself to catch,
My heart lags a beat
Beneath the broken vows,
And there I sit and sing
A sad melancholy song.

Traces of Hope

To search for water in the Sahara dry
The sun steals your sweat
Your body reduced to the sands
A tail of sting beneath your trial
Your mind fails you
Your eyes hail a mirage
You rise to fall, again
And yet again.

Your senses withered to dust
Your moist transpired to air
You crave for a drop
Everytime you lose a drop
You shiver for the moon
And pant for the sun
You stumble a step
And fall to the dunes.

Moment when all seems lost
The winds usher a chant
“Rise, my little one,
Your land is not far”
And so you struggle a step
With the last of your strength
And beyond the dunes
Lie the traces of hope.