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| 'Solitude' by Frederic Leighton |
In the darkest depths of solitude,
there lies a humble picture of yours:
a glimpse of light comes and goes,
then remains the pervasive darkness.
In the darkest depths of solitude,
gloom lurks behind the facade of normalcy;
a hint of smile comes and passes,
there remain the sighs and grunts.
In the darkest depths of solitude,
your ugliness is reflected in full glare of light,
your strengths go into hibernation,
your shrewdness disappears;
and there you are left alone:
amid vanishing beauty and willpower.
In the darkest depths of solitude,
you find yourself utterly alone, powerless, naked and vulnerable;
threads tangled in the floor,
not knowing how to untangle and then to weave;
people all around,
not knowing how to engage and how not to;
in the darkest recesses of the labyrinth called life,
not knowing how far to go which way and how far not;
your begging eyes meet with sneers and jeers.
