It was not best of times

It was not best of times,it was worst worst worst of times.
Clock was striking twelve.In the small town of Punjab while everyone was sleeping i was struggling with my poor soul.I was feeling dead inside.My soul is just sick,i am homesick for a place i am not sure even exist.i want to cry,but i am not able to cry.
Sometimes you want to cry so loudly that you want GOD to hear you.But i am wondering if HE is listening me.
instead of crying and wondering about my existence i just picked up my pen.Nothing good ever came out of the tip of this pen.But this pen has stories to share with you,with all those people suffering from pain,worries depression problems,all of you struggling in silence,I want to tell you are not alone here.Every trouble,sadness,disturbance has a reason to tell that this world isn’t permanent place to live.You have a purpose here and you have to find that.Your problem your agitation is your wake up calls,every little thing is alarming you just get up,there are bundle of reasons to be happy. The reason behind writing this bad piece is my pain,my pain forced me to put my words my thoughts on paper,but i think i can never write yet i am afraid if my voice couldn’t reach to someone who is going through the same problem and it will be bury with me forever,So no matter how bad i am in writing,i will write.
I have this little reason to be happy today.