Noise of the world is all very faint,
All I hear is what sounds like a cry.
A cry of a woman,
unknown, undiscovered yet.
Penetrating through my soul,
it seems to not leave me.
The pain it lends is all I feel,
the cry of the woman, is all I hear.

Ruining my sleep,
she has taken over my dreams.
Playing the protagonist herself,
I am spared for the side role, I assume.
All she does is weeping
and I-
trapped in an overpowering pain,
search for an edifice to jump from
or a vigorous stream to drown myself.
But I find nothing.
Thus, I stand still.
Introspecting in silence,
“Who is this woman?”

Suddenly,
the reality is hit.
A dreary, blue dawn
greets me with a jolt.
Being awake meant nothing new
I wander still, in stupor
oblivious to the blurry world.
The lament of the woman ringing in my ears
as loud and clear as before.

This day too, passes like any other.
Ghastliness invading me.
People come and people go,
what they tell me is unclear,
what they need from me,
uncertain.
For all I know,
this woman is sobbing.

Now I know,
this woman is hailing.
Not to the world, but to me.
Not for their aid, but mine.
The answers to my queries lie deep-rooted,
not in the trespassers,
but within me.

Slowly, I learn,
I understand.
The woman who cries is me myself,
silencing the rest of the world.
My pain becoming my world,
the cry, my only sound.
I sit in a corner,
each teardrop telling me to quit,
puffy eyes hesitating to open
exhausted body, unable to move.

However,
the silence wrapped around her
grant her time for contemplation.
Like a foggy path clears on its own,
like the grey clouds move for the sun to shine,
she, a phoenix,
shall rise from her ash.
Because dear life,
she now knows, how to smile.