Quarrel

These days I sit in silence
To avoid the quarrel
With those high sirens
To stop the violence
By not pointing the cold barrel
At my hot head to reduce the noise level

The imprint of my top shelf
Appears so dark from the shooting range
If you look closer, it’s in deep pain
My ground is covered with hot bullet shells
Ready to scream & layer my screen with thick red
The whole of me has uncountable dark spots, which make me spit lead

What have I become?
Why do I feel so frustrated?
Why is it still difficult to accept my new reality?
Why is my gun always loaded & pointing at me?
Why the feeling of pushing trigger to balance things?
Why am I wounded so badly?

Working hard to change my patterns
Life is on stake & is actually threatened
At times my body & mind are so drained
Difficult to find peace in that piece of frame
The feeling to drown in deep ocean to clean my stains
To heal my soul that has been bleeding since ages

Yeah, I can change all this with a blink
I’ve been working on this but sometimes patterns do stink
Building the physical & mental strength of my outer & inner skin
Trying to quit the quarrel & healing every particle of me
I’m burning in flames every single moment on this sacred journey
To form the new me from my ashes, the true being

Related poem: Spinal con-fusion: a poem by a survivor (1)