Alone

I am alone

And if I scream

Am unheard 

even by myself

When I am out in dark

No one waits for me

keeps the fire burning

No sense of purpose 

Guides my steps 

In this Pan Melancholia

Habit is a tranquilising narcotic

And home a loud illusion;

To forget that I may

Already be forgotten,

To ignore my helpless heart,

And its grudging revelation:

What is my ebbing ephemeral existence

but an irrelevance to an oblivious universe?

- Sdharth Vardhan