Mayank Sharma

With eyes red as beat,
all drenched with water,
heart as if sobbing,
every fraction and after,
He kept spending nights,
waiting for a sleep,
memoirs kept juggling,
smacking across his empty heart,
he waited long then thought of pills,
but failed to have one,
and then came the day,
he did what he hated most,
something from which he kept running,
but this time opened the doors closed,
Society calling him drunkard Read more of this blog post »