By ,

Abhishek Raghuvanshi ’96

I sit on a rock as cold as death

and gaze at the dying sun.

Grief too heavy for my eyes to bear;

my spirit and sun are one.

My nerves of steel become soft as wax

and drip at least strain.

Despair cuts through my sinking heart

to cause no blood but pain.

I think of people, of things and places;

they seem a dream forgotten.

I stand alone, an isolated being;

worthless and rotten.

Hours crawl by, but fear to touch me;

they think I am space.

My senses leave me like an unfaithful friend

and reality is but a haze.

Light slaps me with a motherly hand

and drives the blood inside.

The morning sun with a shining face

climbs the sky with pride.

Rivers flow and birds fly

to kiss the clouds again.

My plagued self begins to desire

as life flows back in my veins.

I think of people, of things and places;

they call me back again.

I think of valleys and mountaintops

with my feet on them.

I speak aloud, they answer back;

the voices loud and clear.

"They care for me, they always have,

they were always there."

I think of roses and meanders green,

of little things so dear.

I find the road that lay hid

but had always been so near.