Soared Soul Poem by Gautam Sen

Soaring sore
roaring high,
if not heeded
in proper degree,
becomes a conflict
of consorted friction.

Conflicts inflict
an itchy feeling
keeping your
solitary soul
in scowling pain
of sultry suffocation.

Wounds of woes
winning your
whims willfully
prank you
a prey of pinches.

Screaming for
consoling comforts
by the soared soul
makes minds screeching.

A fresh gust of wind
eager to extinguish
the ambush of anguish
just waits for
your soared soul
to be in alacrity.
Just allow it to reach
labyrinth layer
with a jostled jolt.

Keeping forlorn mind
in a mental manor
with wide openings,
freshness floods through,
windy gush would rush
your rusted woes
washed away.