The Bruised Name

Under the feet of heartless passersby, a name no one knows where from, rolling along the path blood-stained; the name wounded from time after time is kicked and trampled by the absentminded strollers drifting along the way no one cares where it leads to the name, if only not returned, may still be lingering in the ears of the lover as a sweet nothing; the name still remains in the heart of lover who wanders in the wilderness calling and crying from irresistible yearning; the lover, however, grew tired at last, and became a wondering name itself, it comes to the bank of the river Cocytus dragging its feet, wails, and throws itself in the river and becomes a tear drop in the end. The tear drop carried by the Cocytus’ water becomes the name that is downright ignored now tossing around in the field cruelly treated without justice. Although I have come this far fumbling a difficult way, grasping the trying path, I hear no whisper my darling once echoed softly in my ears; the name covered in bumps and bruises rolling on the field holding her deeply missed sweet and tender whisper in her bosom the poor name, it would never been rather happier if it threw itself into the Lethe and drifted away in the water of oblivion.