What Do They Call Me?

By Arnav Mall

The horns cried out, yet the fields remained silent, 

The rains swept over mighty halls of gold, 

The winds led out a painful shriek, 

My soul cried out too, yet none heard my weep. 

I wandered and found myself, 

Deep in the midst of the foggy graveyard. 

The dead answer no one they say 

Yet they were more patient to me then people. 

I cried out and they said "he's a poet"

Though my cries reached some, 

They all exclaimed and clapped at my pain. 

Poet they call me? 

Yet I'm only a wanderer of this endless sea of pains. 

Then I remained silent, 

The rains swept over me,

Like they swept over those empty halls of gold. 

And my cries faded away under the sounds of horn in the fields. 

Perhaps the silence was too loud, 

Too loud for the folks to listen, 

Or maybe the shrieks of pain got buried inside my very own grave. 

By Arnav Mall