Does this body lurk for a touch I ask my brain.
To which my heart responds with such haste.
This describes the bitter sweet reaction between them.
Moving forward to the stream of questions I make
These are the combination of the things which usually aren’t the same.
Disfigured, disoriented, dissed is such I’m.
Made up of tears, scars and white hair strands
All add up to my glory, all things damned.
They make me stand tall being yet in a junk all rammed
I am the success’s child, orphaned by failures. Then adopted by bravery and never ending barriers.
Much senile, much true. Best friend I like the long walks with you.
As senseless as it may seem, best memories are those I day dream.
Strolling through the streets of a different city with you I realized some people are here to stay for a lifetime.
Out of the heaps of burnt cigarette buds, puffs from that first cigarette nothing could curb.
Cheating your loved ones comes with situation; stealing some moments away from a busy life comes with misery’s inflation.
One’s who throw their hearts out, we resist, we renounce. For the ones who hide them in their golden keeps, we stout?
Read, you will get enlightened. Write and you’ll have people frightened.
Be as stupid as you can for the people you dearly like and as cold as ice for the ones you dislike.
Not thinking over repercussions is smart not caring is just a petty art.
Sabotaging someone with your love is called an expectation. Setting someone free with your love is
Your hair tangled in my fingers is my compassion. My hair tangled in them is mere indolence.
What I have written is boredom’s spectrum and what I am feeling is nothing short of a tantrum.
May the morning make you forget it all.But sadly, it doesn’t.
The same stagnant looks, the same foul speech, its the same.
I thought seeing the morning sun, which tells you, you lived another day would make you happy mother.
If you’re waiting for the sun inside me to rise.
Let me tell you, it’s a long wait.
Glory and all things lustrous are for the ones born privileged.
But I’m poor by virtue, like many others, like you.
Young, wild and free they say.
When the blood’s still running warm and fast, young.
When the roads look all dark and you see a ray of light stealing in, you run chasing it, wild.
When you got nothing to lose, free.
I write about it, give it a meaning and live by it.
Trying to fix me, not a solution, not a way.
Because I’m accepting no fixtures for my self.
To you, goodbye.