Little did I know, that a day will come, when the mirror will freeze, and I will look down, to a different me. Little did I know, that the face will stare, without a blink, looking darker than the, old banyan tree. Joy and sorrow, why can't I feel? Bittersweet, wounds remain without a heal! Why have I been, left to clean, the prisoner in my own body? I want the sorrows back, I want the crying back, I want the bad days, I want the people's gaze, I want my lonely evenings, I want my crazy feelings, 'cause I know, they give way to a different 'morrow. Now I stand, with my own me, like a dead free, and a sad tragedy. Little did I know, that the day will come, and I will be, scampering to crawl, out of the mess called me! 'cause I am the prisoner in my own body! - Pen on paper.