Friday, 21 June 2013


Feeling the wind, and its cry
the sorrow of burning, on every sight
days are gone, with nights to come
and I'm still, fixed to be numb

The decent scenes, the horrific love,
the passionate fever, of being dumb
caught myself, in the midst of all
found in chains, when I wanted to run

These dreadful flower, their dying scents,
their purpose of existence, is also none
in this my numbness, is as pinch of salt,
which will add to taste, of the suffering flower

Its hard to believe, harder to expect,
  its still harder, to die on bed
but can't do anything, with my numbness
have to watch this play, sitting on that bench

The bench where, nobody comes,
nobody ask me for a favour once,
under that bench, my dreams were lying
killed my innocence, with the fear to die