Why are your poems so dark they ask
But I often tend to ignore such remarks
The darkness that my successive lines read
Are not just a combination of words
They are a way of fulfilling my need
My need to express what I feel
My need to tell untold stories
My need to fight my silent battles
My need to let out my manly cries
Some of them are silent cries
Some of them are loud cries
Some of them are tearless cries
Because somehow I’m always calm
And my eyes tend to remain dry
Since they knew me before
They say I was that one pure soul
Who willingly chose darkness
But even they can’t see the hidden truth
So they’ll have to wait for that one sleuth