At Times

At times the soul gets clenched in an unspeakable grief In a demoniac grip, it chokes and wriggles The pain of being stung by a dozen scorpions or hacked piece by piece by an axe Tremulous grows the heart, over love that is spent Seeks in vain to revive the joy that is gone Sprains to lift up the veil that darkens the soul Wrestles to come out from the desolate cave of black solitude The more it struggles to wade through the mess the deeper it plunges into the morass of despair Clung on talons of excruciating pain, wailing a long wail of never being understood the mind goes berserk whirling and churning. Anytime the volcano might erupt emitting fumes of sulphurous smoke with asphalt lava, spilling out, blowing life with its violent breath.