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All’s Well

When you approach so near,

To your deep rooted fear

Everything tends to stand still
Halting all your thought mill.

Nothing churns out
But visions of worse outcome

That shines even in dark dome.

You close eyes to block them,
Instead what runs out are tears,

Pure, liquid form of fears!
Trembling, you reach the crescendo,

Quivering, touch the memo,
And a big sigh of relief,

Assuring yours fear-ridden belief.

All is well,
Sings the heart,

Again, what runs out are tears,
But now winners over the fear.

And you silently utter,
‘Thank you. God Dear’.



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