Comments about Freen Ebrahim
Fumbles. Falters. Stumbles.
Curled fists, in paroxysms of torment,
Fears unfurl, dissipating into the raven cloak of night,
Searching, I stare at the sky,
Ruminating in the fractals of hollow questions,
Morosely answered by the bitter reflections of one-self.
Drowning in the sodden dregs of sorrows,
But only in vain,
They seem to rise to the surface.
Seeking sanctuary till rivulets of the moon,
Seep into my eyes. Blind.
Coursing through my web of veins,
Till the nib of pen incrementally bleeds,
And smears the sullied ...