Morbid, in essence

Wrong. Actions, thoughts, reactions, words, people, scenarios, places – when caught in the whirlwind of the wrong kind each of them wreak havoc on the psyche of mortals.
How woefully awry can things go? Although one cannot quantify this, it is only just that one can can take solace in the fact that the next degree is just looming around the corner. How we crave for first hand experiences for the riches of life! Rich in morbidity, of loss – loss of faith.
One must resign oneself to defeat when the clouds cease to appear any darker. It does not mean that light has arrived, it is the hour which is darkest.
I know not what has befallen people who have tread this path. I shudder at that thought. The rankling pang of grief in my heart prods me to keep going, gentle in its disposition, too full of itself!
In the words of Anwar Maqsood, “चुभते काँटे यादों के दामन से चुनता हूँ ” – I tread this road, beset by sorrow. 
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