A dozen doubts hidden,
a hundred worries kept away.
Thousands of burdens covered,
millions of unspoken fear in mind.
Marred by darkness, the soul is,
scarred by loneliness, the being is.
Thy silent agony held by thee,
none knows, even till thy death.
A garden of roses to decorate,
Even thy kins, though blinded by grief,
knows not of any truth beneath thy skin.