Ishika Gautam

Pride

Countless persons bonded aloof,

Castle on my eyes, with no legit proof,

Looking the attention seeked for whom,

With a broken soul he was doomed.

A boy, a male he, man was not yet,

Pleasure to fake grin, outside rotten death,

Peered his marks of tears on cheeks,

If they were blade—should peel and creak.

Others what seen a free of soul,

He was a middled with loads as goals,

A dead of dark spent on silent yells,

He had those agony under his eyes dwelled.

A growling vocals his voice proved,

Lest what a person should easily ruled,

He—what an ethereal creature I saw,

He—a respectable prisoner of life I adored.