Grey souls and black hearts.

 "Why is your poetry always dark?", he asked her directly this time. Her fake smile and her imperturbable reply, solved half of his query. "Well, that's how my heart responds", she said. "My heart is black and my soul is grey. That's precisely why I ink black words on the white paper", she added.

"Is it a trauma? Is it a heart break?", he asked. Even if her poems were good, they always had this sad interpretation or a gloomy aura to it. He liked when he read the poetry, but the sorrow disguised in fancy words pierced his heart, every time. He wanted to know more, about her poetry and yes, about her.

"Trauma? Heartbreak?, no, no, I've never fallen in love", she smiled, this time a genuine one.

"Then why does she like playing victim? Is she an attention seeker? Does she love being bleaky?", he thought.

Ignoring the questions in his mind, he just smiled back. "Do you believe in love?", he blurted spontaneously.

"Yes, I do. But love ends in misery, doesn't it?", she gazed into zilch. A tear unknowingly dropped from her eye and in a split of second, he caught it.

"Pearl, look, it shines like pearl. Don't waste your precious tears", he said, holding the tear in his palm.

They are no pearls, just useless tears,

Harsh decibels to tranquil ears,

Don't hold on to them, they ought to perish, 

They are worthless, no need to cherish.....

"Hmmm some more greys", he said. "All love doesn't end in misery. What makes you think so?", he inquired some more.

She sighed, "My mom loved my dad, but my dad loved that lady....the one who worked with him in his office. She was beautiful, elegant in her ways, polite with her talks. My mom was no match to her. Although my mom knew about this affair my dad had, she continued to love him. She was ready to be just a second woman in his life. Even after being his Mrs, she was okay with not being his love. But that day, that day she received a call. And she burst into tears. She hurled things around the house. Her favourite vase, she broke into pieces. The window glass shattered. The kitchen was a mess. And she....and she...", she went mute.....

She started scribbling on the sheet with her black pen...

It was a black out, 

How could she live without?

Him, not by her side,

All that she did was, cried, 

She suffered alone,

In her grief she was drowned.....

But to me, didn't she owe, as a mother?

My needs, my problems, she never bothered,

Was she just a wife?

Was I nothing in her life?....

She stopped, looked towards the balcony and continued, "I , I shouted, I yelled, I told her I loved her. But she never looked at me. I couldn't stop myself. My mom...I pushed her from the balcony. She fell down with a thud. She left me alone, all alone in this big bad world. Where there's no love. Only grey souls and black hearts.....", she breathed heavily. She put her pen on the table and folded the sheet.

The psychiatrist, he sat still in front of her. His patient, had finally admitted today. She had brought to light her agony. This was the last resort to solve the pending case of years.

Now was his turn to decide, whether to heal the black heart and paint the grey soul, or let the umbra grow drab.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My attempt for the prompt, 'The ink black heart '.

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