In a novel's realm, her voice does cry,
Through agonies that make her sigh.
Miserable events, burdened strife,
A chronic illness shadows her life.
She wonders if Tess, of classics told,
Faced sorrows like hers, heavy and bold.
In her twenties, youth's tender grace,
Why must she endure this sorrowful chase?
Why does her author write a tale so bleak?
Where are the chapters that happiness will speak?
Will joy ever find its way to her heart?
Or will sadness linger, tearing her apart?
The ending unknown, shrouded in mist,
When will her author's pen desist?
Does this pain serve her growth, her soul?
How many chapters till happiness' goal?
Or will the story's final page hold her death?
Why, oh why, the author's cruel breath?
Is this tale a reflection, their own strife?
Living with such pain, a burdensome life.
In beauty and sadness, her story weaves,
Aching emotions, like autumn leaves.
But within the sorrow, strength resides,
As her character blossoms, pain subsides.
Though the author's hand seems unkind,
A silver lining she may still find.
For stories unfold in mysterious ways,
And hope lingers in each passing phase.
by C Swathish
Cswathish, a budding wordsmith, and a post graduate in English Literature, Calls the charming town of Kannur in Kerala his home. He is carving out a unique identity for him in the literary world.
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