Slowly,
The wind, calls my name...
Desolated world is silenced,
And sky looks despondent
And I jumped wearily off the forbidden couch
Of life past and elapsed present!
Why am I bleeding?
Why you repressed in my blood,
Why you doused it?
Or am I just singing my heart's content?
Painted in the teardrops,
The bit of life inside me, unfolding,
Before my organic decaying matter!
My hands of blood,
Seen holding the cross of
Pink hearts and stars
In the fading light of the half-lit moon,
Probably few dimensions of love don’t come true!
Yet judging me unfairly,
Because I brought forth my dreams to reality...
The turn is still, as I pass,
Broken,
So the bleeding words could be read,
In the moratorium of
Home, work, love and hate
Guess, we made up lives
Because reality is stained,
And I see myself not being myself,
Just a reflection of the stranger
I have become to me!
It is done,
And my heart pained me so.
Setting my evil ways a flying,
Am I engineering my own mythology?
Or just a game of fake blood architecture...
And Slowly
The wind of life,
Cries with me...
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