This world was too much.
in him.
Sometimes he wanted
to go insane.
(He was talking to himself) .
He cared too much
of things and people around him,
but it splits
like a dry pod, the life,
in throes of running
to save a falling seed.
Yields his whole earned silence,
starts turning the pages
of a soiled book
lost in the attic of grief.
Satish Verma
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/falling-seed/
