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Anhedonia

Anhedonia 

Why don't fresh blooms
or colours of the morning 
make me jovial as before?
Is it because of 
the darkness of the world 
or the darkness within me?

Why doesn't the breeze 
soothe me as he used to?
Is it because of the vexatious 
trail  he has to traverse?
Or is it that my wounds
are so deep and grave?

Why does laughter 
stay elusive to me?
Fatigue or just aging?
Or is it because of 
the incessant glimpses of 
the big bad world around, 
that haunt me all the time?


Preetha Raj

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