DOORS.

DOORS. 

They are some pretty beautiful souls

who are so caring and gentle 

and polite and cute,

and who tune songs of love and hope.

They are some sweet sour creatures

who act like a bandage to my soul,

giving me so many black holes.

They have a small treasure trove 

from which they shower me a blessing

of unwanted hopes, they have a 

wishlist underwired in a box full 

of poison and malignant phrases 

and idioms of their own.

Still,

they knock the doors while having

the damn keys, pretending to be 

cool, super cool, good and the best,

and pry into me if i am fine, 

with so much fakeness 

charged concern in line. 

They hunt for the answer, 

Why are you sick at heart?

And they put forth a beautiful strife that

"Happiness is the key to life."

I break the silence that, 

The key of Happiness is with you.

Why you knock my door which you have

puffed up with so many bad rays of hope.

They knock my door with

a beautiful starter put in good shape with 

1% care and 

a 99% full course meal 

plated with cuisines of variant

tastes and types,

which is very sweet and sour 

of its own kind.

Leaving me all dead, to go down the line

and gobble up every bite from that plate

full of undesirable plight.

Ayesha Khalid